Drown Yourself in Glory
by Rorry Lamb
Summary: It storms the day Ostara Baratheon is born. The ocean beats against the shore and the wind tears at the walls of Storm's End and no one notices the magic that lingers in the air. No one notices the fierce sizzle of power bubbling beneath the babe's soft flesh. No one save Death, who sits and waits and smiles.
1. The End, The Beginning

Breathing hurts, thinking hurts, everything _hurts_. Her vision is dancing in and out, her ears are ringing, and the blood pouring out of her body is pooling on the marble beneath her. Hermione Granger is dying. It's inevitable at this point. There's too much blood, every old wound Hermione's ever gotten as a result of magic has been ripped open with little more then a flick of the wrist and an unknown incantation.

Hermione sucks in a shallow breath, tries to think of a way to slow the bleeding until someone can get her to st Mungo's, and absently traces her finger through the blood cooling beneath her hand.

Suddenly someone's hands are stroking back her hair, lifting her eyelids, putting pressure on wounds there's no use putting pressure on. She wants to tell them that. Wants to tell them to get Harry or Ron, they won't be able to help her but at least they'd be there, but when she opens her mouth blood bubbles up to dribble out the corner of her mouth and disappear into the soaked mess of her hair.

She settles for peeling her eyelids open to stare at the person, Ron as it turns out to be, as he tries to close the worst of her wounds. He's bleeding too, Hermione realizes, the cut he'd gotten during his training has torn itself open again and is painting his face maroon. Without much thought Hermione reaches up with trembling fingers to wipe the blood away from his cheek.

"Tell me what to do," Ron begs, his voice cracking as he presses harder against the wound curling from her shoulder to her hip. "Please Mione, just tell me what to do."

 _You can't do anything_ , she thinks but doesn't say.

Instead she finds herself dropping her hand to lace her fingers through his. A bit difficult with all the blood but it covers the fact that her hands are clammy and chilled and his hands are so warm despite all the blood. But then, that's just how Ron is isn't it? Hermione thinks about all the times she's curled up against his side just to be close to the warmth of him.

"You'll take care of Crookshanks won't you?" Hermione asks, words slurred and soft even to her ears.

"What are you talking about? You'll be fine... In a few minutes some healers will come and I'll bring Crooks to Mungo's and you can see him as much as you want. I'll sneak him in if I have too, stuff him down my shirt. No one'll question if I say I've gain a few pounds seeing as mum'll likely be bringing meals over."

The laughter that spills out of her hurts worse then it should but Hermione ignores the sharp ache radiating through her body in favor of smiling up at the man kneeling beside her. His smile is sad, so terribly sad, and his eyes are full of tears. They clear little paths down his cheeks and Hermione wants to wipe them away but she just can't get her arms to move.

"I love you," Hermione breathes as black begins to creep in along the edges of her vision. "I love you... so much it hurts."

"I love you too."

"And I'm sorry... I'm so sorry... I didn't want it to be like this."

Now Ron is crying, great hulking sobs that shake his shoulders and causes his fingers to tighten their hold around her own. It doesn't hurt, Hermione thinks it probably should but she's lucky she can feel anything at all.

"It's not your fault." Ron manages to say between hiccuping sobs.

Everything blurs into a swirl of red and black and Hermione wants to tell him to take care of Harry too, and Ginny, and George, and himself most of all. But there's not enough time and she doesn't have enough energy and so she just blinks up at her husband, aching at the thought that he had to witness this but thankful for it too. Hopefully he gets some sort of closure from this.

Hopefully, hopefully, hopefully.

"It's not... It's not your fault either." Hermione mumbles.

And then it's over.

There's no more pain, no more aching, no more tears. Just endless black and the distant rumble of someone's voice telling her they love her.

~X~

They do not let her see the babe. The small, sweet thing that had been pushed from her womb silent and still. From this dance hence her babe will not be remembered as anything other then one of the many stillborn babes Rhaella has given birth to. But despite this, despite everything, Rhaella will mourn her child. Her sweet little dragon babe who would have brought her such joy.

"My Queen, the child?" Pycelle's voice tears through Rhaella's grief.

And she cannot look at him, not when he's holding the still figure of her babe in his arms when she herself cannot.

"The King must be told." Rhaella says, tone hollow even to her own ears.

Aerys will not be pleased. This is the third child she's given him to die before its birth. He will not be pleased to know that the sister-wife he'd wanted for Rhaegar has died. It had been different for her husband when the babes dying had been boys, possible heirs should Rhaegar die before taking the throne. It's different now. For him at least, for Rhaella it hurts all the same.

"Yes, Your Grace."

And then Pycelle leaves her to her sorrow and two women who help her wash the blood away and change into a fresh chemise before carefully guiding her from the room.

~X~

Cassana screams, fingers curling around the damp fabric of her soiled chemise, sweat dripping down her nose as she push, push, pushes her babe from her womb. Maester Cressen offers her words of encouragement, tells her that she is doing so well, that he can make out the top of the babe's head. All she has to do is push a bit harder. Just a bit.

This birth is harder then her last and distantly Cassana wonders if her babe is dead or coming the wrong way as some babes are wont to do. She hopes not, prays that this is not so, because Cressen might be able to save her if he can but either way her babe will die and... Cassana loves her babe, unborn though it may be, just as fiercely as she loves Robert.

The thought of her babe coming into the world silent and unmoving makes something in Cassana clench painfully.

"A boy." Cressen says when the child slips from between Cassana's legs and into his waiting hands.

A brother for her sweet, bold Robert.

She's getting ready to ask for him, to tell one of the girls helping Maester Cressen to hand over her son so that she might see him and give him his name and tell him how much she loves him when a sharp pain lances up her spine.

"What's happening?" She demands, pretending not to hear the quiver of her voice.

Maester Cressen moves back between her legs, carefully checking for anything that might prove fatal.

"There is another babe," The dark eyed Maester says and Cassana is, for a moment, relieved that it not something a bit more serious.

Cassana squares her jaw, rolls her shoulders back, and pushes with all the might her battered body will give. She will not die in this bed, her babe will not die here either. Cassana will give birth to a babe, boy or girl, and she will love it just as she loves her other children. Even if it is deformed, even if it's caused her more pain in the last few minutes then either of its siblings.

Her agony bleeds into her voice as she screams.

"I see the head, My Lady!" Cressen cheers.

Sweat and tears blend together on Cassana's cheeks and she grits her teeth as she push, push, pushes.

 _Just a bit more_ , she tells herself, _just a bit more_.

It's almost unbearable, this pain. Cassana's old Septa would have told her that it was a sign, would have told her that Cassana's babe was going to be a warrior. Strong and fierce and wild. Cassana used to think Septa Ayleen's teachings were a load of horse shit but at this rate she wouldn't be surprised if the old woman was right. Gods, Cassana hopes she was right about such things.

And later, when the dark haired Lady's screams are drowned out by the sharp wail of a babe Cassana allows her body to sag back against the pillows piled high to keep her propped up. Despite the exhaustion Cassana can't help but be relieved.

"A girl," Cressen says, sounding mystified.

"A girl? Is she healthy?"

"Yes, My Lady, she is."

"I want to hold them," Cassana says, already pulling herself up to sit against the pillows. "Let me hold them."

And so Cressen does. Lowering her boy into her arms while he goes to clean her daughter.

Cassana's son is a small thing, with nut-brown skin a few shades lighter then her own and a thin patch of hair curling atop his head. He looks like Robert did when he was a babe. Cassana smiles at him, presses soft kisses to his delicate head and nearly cries when he curls his little fingers around her own.

"Stannis," Cassana tells the boy, the name she and Steffon had chosen should they have a boy naught but a soft breath. "Your name is Stannis."

When a wet nurse comes for her son Cassana passes him off hesitantly, the only real reason she does is because her body is beginning to tremble and she needs to sleep but she needs to see her daughter more. So when they pass the crying babe to her Cassana finds herself laughing despite the ache of her body.

"My Ostara," Cassana breathes. "You are... So beautiful."

The babe cries now, a desperate sounding wail, for food or for something else Cassana isn't sure but her body is beginning to feel heavy so she passes the babe off to the wet nurse and allows Cressen to check her over before settling back and allowing herself to sleep.

~X~

She'd grown up with mildly religious parents, they'd never gone to church but her mother always spoke of Heaven and how Hermione would see her grandparents there one day. _Hermione_ had never been overly religious during her life but she believed there was at least something after death. And then she died, and then there'd been nothing but peaceful darkness and if that was Heaven then Hermione could accept it.

if that was Heaven then Hermione could learn to appreciate it.

Because there wasn't any lingering traumas, no occasional pains emitting from her cursed wounds, no more nightmares about Bellatrix and her wild eyed anger and her nails digging into Hermione's cheek as she cackles above her.

But then she'd been moving, the dark walls squeezing around her and moving her along. She'd wondered if she we moving on as some would call it. Going from that peaceful black to the place where her grandparents would welcome her with open arms and the three of them would wait for Hermione's parents and Ron and Harry and every other friend she'd ever made over the course of her life.

Unfortunately, there's no bright light and fluffy clouds and laughing family waiting for her.

Instead it's a man with kind dark eyes and peppered hair. He smiles at her, pulls something filmy and slick away from her nose as her eyes and passes her off to another woman who begins cleaning her and... Oh.

 _Oh no_.

"A girl."

She screams, kicks, and wiggles in an attempt to get away from the woman holding her but her body's too small and too light and the woman cleaning her merely coos at her and wraps her in a soft cloth before passing her off.

The woman she's given to is a sweet faces woman with wide brown eyes and richly colored curls. She smiles at her, teeth so very white and straight, and places tender kisses to her cheek.

"My Ostara," She sounds so elated, so relieved, and she finds her panic dying a bit as she listens to the woman's voice, so familiar and so sweet. "You are... So beautiful."

Her screaming, her crying, sounds a little less desperate but she still feels so lost, so cheated. Why couldn't it have ended? Why couldn't she have been left alone? There are so many emotions and so much confusion that she doesn't even balk when a woman offers her a breast. She just takes it and thinks about all the ways she's going to kick the ass of whoever did this too her.

~X~

"They are healthy?" Steffon demands, staring down at the babe tucked safely in his arms.

Cressen nods, "As healthy as your last."

Steffon nods slowly before turning his attention back to the little boy sleeping against his chest. His son, healthy and hardy and strong. Just like Robert. Just like Ostara. His family, his blood. Baratheon children that will carry his name and his legacy for years to come.

"Are you well, Cassana?" Steffon asks, eyes drifting away from his son to his daughter and wife.

"I'm tired." Cassana replies, soft but not weak, her finger tracing Ostara's leg.

"I would suspect so... Cressen says the twins' birth was harder then Robert's."

"Harder but not terribly so."

Steffon lowers himself into the seat beside Cassana's bed, adjusting the babe in his arms so he can reach out and thread his fingers through his wife's. Soon she'll be removed, helped from the birthing bed to the chambers she and Steffon share. But for now she's still a bit too weak and it would be unwise to move her in such a state. Thankfully the bed linens have been changed and a fresh chemise provided. So Steffon offers her water and hands her food and occasionally strokes back her hair when she permits his touch.

"Robert is excited. He thinks he's gained a new playmate." Steffon offers after a while.

"You've told him then, about Stannis and Ostara."

"Yes, he's thrilled."

"Surprising."

"A bit, perhaps... I think that he'll like them best in a few years, when Stannis is old enough to play."

Cassana laughs a bit at that but doesn't say anything.

Beyond the walls of Storm's End the sea rages and the sky screams, a storm unlike anything the residents living in the Stormlands have ever before witnessed. And the magic that swirls in the air, the magic that causes the waves to beat against the cliff side and the thunder to shake the very foundations of the Keep, go unnoticed to all save the small babe curled against her mother's breast and the shadow creature lingering in the corner nearest the door.

A creature that smells of carrion flowers. A creature that stares upon Ostara Baratheon as if gazing upon and old friend.

A tall, shadow creature that holds a silver haired babe tight in his grasp.

~X~

The news of Stannis and Ostara Baratheon's birth reaches King's Landing within days and Rhaella finds herself conflicted. She's glad for Cassana, it's a terrible thing to loose a babe and Rhaella would never wish that pain onto anyone... But she's also angry, because that could have been her. Why wasn't it her? She did everything right, ate what she was told to eat and Pycelle had kept an eye on her as she'd progressed into her pregnancy.

So why did Elaehra die while Ostara and Stannis live.

Rhaella swallows thickly.

Aerys will not be pleased. He's already visited her once, he'd not yelled at her and he'd seemed to be concerned for her health but Rhaella saw the way he'd looked at her. The way he'd whispered to Pycelle before placing a chaste, brief kiss to her temple. She wonders how long it will be before her brother accuses her of being unfaithful, of lying with another man and attempting to bring his bastards into the world and raise them as Targaryen royalty.

It is not a secret Aerys favors Steffon Baratheon, their shared blood and boyhood friendship having created a bond of sorts between them. But it's unlikely Aerys will be excited to hear that a child with only a fraction of the Targaryen blood he has has survived while his own children perish.

With a sigh Rhaella sets her sewing aside.

This has been the first time in nearly a week that Rhaella's been allowed out of her chambers on account of her own weakness and the terrible storm that had rolled across the whole of Westeros. She can see the rolling black clouds that have made up the Stormlands as of late. Rhaella finds it amusing for a number of reasons, however, it would appear the storms developing in her cousin's lands will soon make their way to King's Landing which makes the queen sigh.

She's grown so tired of rain and chill.

Without much thought Rhaella stands and gathers her sewing, aware of Ser Gerold Hightower's presence as he follows her back into the Red Keep.


	2. By the Pricking of My Thumbs

A year passes, then two, and Ostara Baratheon has proven to be the oddest child Maester Cressen has ever interacted with.

Two years old and already speaking in full sentences, two years old and showing perfect understanding of things children should not understand. Cressen doesn't know what to make of it. If he were anyone else he might say that Ostara Baratheon is not a _child_. But that's ridiculous, he was there for her birth and even if he hadn't been her physical appearance is still that of a young Baratheon.

With her mother's flesh tone and her father's wild array of ebony curls Ostara Baratheon is, perhaps, one of the prettiest little girls Cressen has ever seen. But even then it is her eyes that catch the attention of many of the men and women who see her. Cressen had expected to see the blue that always makes up the eyes of Baratheon children. Robert's eyes had settled to blue, so had Stannis' when the time came... But not Ostara, oh no, when her eyes had settled they'd taken a shade similar to that of an eggplant or perhaps a plum.

Rich and dark and entirely Targaryen in their color.

It almost distracts from the storm that lingers there... But when she does smile the storm dissipates and her little face simply lights up and the world around Cressen stutters.

He thinks that when the roundness of youth leaves her Ostara Baratheon will be a maiden sought after by many.

Steffon must see it too, the oddness and the beauty, for he glances warily around the room whenever he holds court. As if he's searching for anyone who would comment on such beauty manifesting in a babe so young. It's better then them commenting on her perfectly formulated sentences and her single minded focus. But Cressen thinks that while his Lord's caution is good he has nothing to fear from any of the men and women living in Storm's End.

For Ostara Baratheon is much loved, especially by Robert who follows her nurse around and stares at her with something akin to wonder. Robert doesn't seem as fond of Stannis as he is of his sister and while that bothers Cressen a bit he isn't worried. Stannis will never suffer for lack of sibling love, not when Ostara loves him so fiercely already. Toddling after him, speaking to him, defending him with glares and frowns whenever Robert comments on something Stannis can't quite manage to do.

Cressen finds it odd that Robert seems to care more for the thought of siblings then actually having them. Whenever the maester compares Roberts actions to those of Ostara, or sometimes Stannis who follows after Ostara more oft than not, Cressen wonders if the twins' affection for each other and Robert has more basis then Robert's affection for them.

~X~

Being a child again is hard, mostly because she's had to come to terms with everything and accept it. Having the motor skills of a toddler and being unable to pronounce certain words because she just can't get her tongue to move the way it should certainly doesn't help but her biggest issue with everything that's happened to her are the memories. Because it's hard being Ostara Baratheon First of Her Name, daughter of Lord Steffon Baratheon of the Stormlands when you're also Hermione Jean Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age and a war heroine to boot.

Ostara remembers being Hermione, remembers Hogwarts and Harry and Ron. She also remembers being tortured and being hurt because of who her parents were and dying in her husband's arms too. Coming to terms with everything had been the hardest bit, but she'd had months to reconcile and accept everything that had happened to her and who she'd become.

She's Ostara now and while it's bloody weird she can _accept_ that.

Doesn't mean she isn't going to find whoever's responsible for all this and kick their ass. She'll have to wait until she's old enough to threaten someone without them laughing but she's had years to formulate a plan and she's rather proud of it considering she doesn't have her wand.

Ostara looks away from the doll that had been given to her in place of the book she'd asked for in favor of looking at her new mother who is tickling Stannis' feet and kissing his cheeks and telling him how sweet he is.

This is her family now... As odd as that is.

Hermione hadn't had siblings. She'd never been the baby sister or a twin and while she's seen how siblings interact with one another seeing is completely different then being part of that experience. But Ostara likes Stannis, she likes her parents too, and Robert even if he does make her want to box his ears half the time.

Whether or not she likes it Ostara can't go back to being Hermione Granger. She can't go back to being a Ministry worker and Ron's wife and the Godmother to an entire slew of little red haired children. The realization had hurt, it still hurts, but she's learned that even if she can't go back to the life she'd had before Ostara can still make a life for herself _here_.

That thought alone is enough to lessen some of the pain she feels whenever she thinks of the people she loved and left behind.

~X~

Cassana and Steffon are attentive parents, loving and gentle but unafraid to discipline their children. Ostara's grown to love them both just as fiercely as she'd loved Jean and David Granger. And they love her just as much as they love Stannis and Robert, which surprised her at first seeing as she's now living in a time period where women aren't considered good for much more then popping out babies and raising them.

It's good to know that she has a strong support system in this life since she doesn't have Ron or Harry to make sure she eats and sleeps on a regular basis. Now she has her parents to look after her and a Septa (which is terrible because she's supposed to be _teaching_ Ostara but she doesn't know things like algebra and physics) that treats her tenderly but firmly.

But honestly, Stannis is her favorite.

Maybe it's a twin thing? Padma and Parvati had been extremely close despite having been put in separate houses and the Carrow twins (Hestia and Flora but also Amycus and Alecto) had been close too from what Hermione had understood. And even if Stannis doesn't have magic there's still a connection. Ostara can tell when he's upset and more oft than not she can figure out what's bothering him without so much as saying a thing.

Having a twin is different but Ostara likes it.

Stannis is a good twin to have too. He's quite and severe but he never yells at her or tries to push her into things like Robert sometimes does. Of course, it's too early to tell what their relationship will be like when they're older but for now it's comfortable. Ostara likes it in any case and that's good enough.

~X~

When she's four Ostara finds the Godswood, a desolate place with an ancient tree at the center with a solemn face carved into the white bark. Ostara sticks her fingers into the sap that drips like bloody tears down the carved face and her fingers come away sticky. The sap is sweet when she sticks her finger in her mouth, a stupid move she's fully aware but she does it all the same.

It's probably a good thing she did because the moment she pulls her finger from her mouth, the sap lingering despite her having swallowed, something shadowy and black moves in her peripheral vision.

Ostara whips around as fast as her little body can handle, hands raised defensively to fend off anyone who tries to hurt her, but the being standing in the shadows under an older oak tree does not move to toward her.

It does not move at all.

Instead the being stares at her from under its hood and Ostara begins to grow anxious, then she gets angry. Because she knows who it is. She knows _what_ it is. And oh how she wishes she had her wand. She'd kill him. She'd find a way to kill him.

"You did this." She growls, it's not nearly as menacing coming from a four-year-old's body and Ostara hates it.

 _Yes_.

"Why?" Ostara demands and she gets the impression that the being is smiling under his hood.

As if he has any right to be amused. She's _angry_ with him. He can't be amused by her when she's angry with him. That he's refused to answer her question, which only makes her angrier... But she finds herself curious as well.

Mortals aren't supposed to be able to see Death.

So how can she?

"How can I see you? What did you do?" Hermione asks, a bit softer but no less angry.

 _What did you do?_

"What do you mean? _I_ didn't _do_ anything."

The hooded being shakes with silent laughter as he reaches out with a thin, grey-blue finger to point at the stained skin of her hand.

 _You've done something, sweet faced warrior_.

Ostara moves her hand behind her back and scowls, "I'll have you know that it's not a crime to taste sap."

 _Are you sure that's what you've tasted, girl?_

His tone is calm and soft, almost soothing, but Ostara can only hear ringing as she sucks in a breath to yell and rage and scream at the creature that brought her to this world. No matter how much she may love her new family it doesn't lessen the anger she feels for _him_. And before she can begin her rant about whatever it is she's going to yell at him about (she's still debating whether she's angrier that he sent her here or that he took away her chance to see Ron and Harry and everyone else from her past life) when a soft breath of wind blows her hair into her eyes causing her to flinch away.

When she opens her eyes the creature is gone and Ostara is left standing in the shadow of the Weirwood tree.

~X~

He comes for her later that evening when Storm's End is quiet and the wind outside taps ever so gently at her window. Ostara should be sleeping but she'd managed to sneak a book out of the library and a lumos is easy enough to cast all things considered. Her love of books will get her into trouble one day, Ostara is sure.

 _Hello, gentle eyed dragon_.

Ostara cringes, the light from her spell flickering before blinking out.

It's dark in her room without her lumos but the moon outside is full and bright and Ostara can see the being standing at the foot of her bed well enough to send him her most ferocious glare.

"What are _you_ doing here?" She asks fingers curling around her blanket.

The being reaches into his cloak and removes a stick made of smooth white wood similar to the wood of a weirwood tree. He holds it aloft with one hand and motions to her with another.

"A wand?"

 _A peace offering._

Ostara purses her lips.

"What happened to _my_ wand?"

 _This is your wand now. Hermione Granger's wand would not have worked for you_.

Indignation burns hot, hot, hot in her chest and Ostara glares harder at the creature standing before her.

"And why the blood hell not?"

Death's laughter is a strange thing, like the sound of wind rustling leaves but softer.

 _Hermione Granger did not have the blood of Dragons_ , he says as he tosses the wand into her lap.

And then he's gone and the only thing left behind to even prove he'd been there at all is Ostara's rage and the weirwood wand laying innocently in her lap.

~X~

"Maester Cressen?"

"Yes Ostara?"

"Is it true that the Children helped to build Storm's End?"

The aged man looks up from his table full of herbs and non-magical potions to stare at her briefly before returning to his work.

"It is impossible to say, really... Some claim the Children helped in the construction others say it was Bran the Builder when he was but a boy."

"But there is magic here, yes?" Ostara asks.

She already knows the answer. She can feel the magic lingering in the stones, threading throughout the whole of Storm's End. Old magic, fierce magic, magic Ostara's never witnessed before. The only reason she's even asking the good Maester about it is because she wants to know more.

Applying new runes and protective spells to runes and spells already laid down could be incredibly dangerous and Ostara refuses to be the reason someone gets hurt when she's trying to prevent exactly that. Unfortunately, there aren't any books in the library that can tell her anything, not that the librarian would let her borrow the books if there were. Something about he possibly smudging the pages or ruining the book.

"Hmm. It is possible, yes. Why the interest?" Cressen asks and Ostara shrugs delicately.

"Just curious I suppose."

"Yes, well, perhaps it would be best if you put your thirst for knowledge aside for the time being and go outside to play. A storm's coming and this will likely be the last time you get to play outside before it hits."

This is why she _likes_ Cressen. He doesn't treat her differently from her siblings and he encourages her to ask questions. A funny thing considering most of the people in this world are incredibly sexist.

Ostara kicks her feet and frowns a bit, "I can go outside and play after the storm comes."

"You can, yes, but you're also a growing child and play would do you some good."

The girl frowns. Aside from Stannis and Robert she doesn't have anyone to play with and why would she want to play anyway when she's having a perfectly good conversation with Cressen?

He must see something in her face before the good Maester sighs before moving to pull a book from a shelf which he promptly sets in front of Ostara.

"If you're so opposed to going out and playing you could at least go out and _read_."

It's a book on plants.

She'd never been overly fond of Herbology in her past life but she had paid attention. It would certainly be interesting to compare the differences between the plants of this world and the plants of her old one. Perhaps magical plants have similarities to plants found in this world? It would be much easier to make a potion if that were the case.

Ostara takes the book and jumps down from the stool she'd clambered up onto earlier.

"Thank you, Maester Cressen!" She calls, already flipping the book open as she makes her way to the door.

"I expect the book back, Ostara."

"Of course, Maester, have I ever stolen one from you?"

She doesn't wait around to hear his answer.

She's not going to give his book of legends back anyway. Not until she's read through it a few more times and gone over it with a fine tooth comb. Not until she's good and ready to part with it.

Besides, he hasn't asked for it back yet so he can't miss it too terribly now can he? Ostara smiles as she makes her way through the keep. If he hasn't asked for it back then that means he's not expecting it back until she's done with it. He hadn't given her a due back by date either so technically she hasn't stolen any books from him. Though, she thinks that she'll have to give this one back eventually... But only after she's finished reading it, of course.

~X~

"A raven has arrived from King's Landing." Cassana says, offering the letter to her husband.

Steffon looks up from whatever it is he'd been looking at, careful not to jostle the little girl sleeping on his lap as he takes the letter. Once it's out of her hands Cassana kneels down to gather the book Cressen had given to Ostara nearly three days prior off the floor and set it delicately on the writing desk so that Ostara can take it with her when she leaves.

"Would you like me to take her?" Cassana asks, watching as Ostara wiggles and turns in her sleep.

Whatever dream she's having must be an exciting one for her little fawn to move so much in her sleep. It's making things harder on Steffon though for he can't use the letter opener without running the risk of either dropping their daughter off of his lap or accidentally stabbing himself should she move a certain way and bump his arm.

"Please," Steffon says as he leans back to let Cassana take their daughter. "Thank you, love."

"What does the King want?" Cassana asks as she adjusts her daughter's form in her arms.

She watches as her husband frowns, eyes drifting over the words written for his eyes only.

"It's from Tywin," he says after a moment. "Rhaella has lost another babe."

"Is she alright?" Cassana wonders, voice carefully devoid of emotion.

She'd been Rhaella's Lady-in-Waiting for a time and Cassana had grown fond of the younger woman. If something were to happen to Rhaella... Cassana shakes her head. She'll not think of that now.

"Tywin says she is expected to make a full recovery." His voice is gentle but his eyes are wary.

Cassana frowns as her husband's eyes rise from the letter and move to rest upon Ostara's sleeping form. The Lady of Storm's End swallows and tightens her grip on her daughter.

"Why has Lord Tywin sent you such a letter?" Cassana demands.

And Steffon's eyes turn chilly as he pulls them away from Ostara to meet his wife's gaze.

"He wants us to come to King's Landing for Rhaegar's name day celebration."


	3. Something Wicked This Way Comes

A pile of books appear on her bed three days later. Ostara flips through them hesitantly, her new wand burning hot against the skin of her calf where her stockings keep it out of sight but on hand. The books aren't really books, more like personal journals written by witches and wizards who've long since died. Ostara recognizes some of the languages.

Latin, Old English, and Old Gaelic make up the majority of the journals left for her. Ostara puts those aside with every intention of reading them in the next few weeks, then she turns her attention to the other three journals.

They're bound in soft leather which had been pressed at some point to resemble scales, there are small jewels peppered across the spine of one and gold threading through the covers of the others. When Ostara opens the journal she finds it full of words and pictures and pressed plants. Each one is aged to varying degrees and Ostara's got the strangest feeling that she's seen these journals before.

The language is Valyrian.

Ostara is still learning the language but she's always been a curious thing and she knows enough to make out some of the words. So Ostara reads what she can and finds herself conflicted. Some of the spells contained within the journal, the ones she can make out anyway, are gruesome and many of them involve some sort of sacrifice or rituals that make Ostara blush when she sees them depicted in colorful inks or paints on the next page.

But the more she reads the more she can make out.

Without much thought Ostara moves to her bed where she drops down to lay across the floor and reach under the bed to pull a small chest from the shadows. Ostara moves to kneel by the chest, the books are placed on the floor, and Ostara reaches for her wand which she waves over the lid of the chest. A series of low, mechanical clicks emit from within the chest before the lid pops open.

Ostara gathers the Valyrian journals up and places them in the chest alongside some of her other more questionable trinkets. She'll take them back out after she's fluent in the language, but until then it's too dangerous to have them on her person. Especially if she's going to King's Landing. Wouldn't want anyone accusing her of stealing now would she?

"Ostara? What are you doing?"

Her father's voice makes her jump and shove the chest back under the bed before she stands up to smile at her father.

"Good morning papa! I've just finished packing!" Ostara exclaims and her father frowns.

"What are you holding Ostara?"

"I'm not hiding anything, papa." Ostara says, but her father's eyes are fixated on the wand still dangling from her fingers.

 _Oh, bloody hell._

"Ostara..."

"You mustn't tell anyone, papa, it could be very dangerous if anyone were to know."

People do stupid things when they're scared. Really stupid things. Things like dragging innocent women out of their homes and tying them to stakes before setting them on fire. Ostara isn't too keen on the idea on being burned alive. Ostara isn't too keen on anyone finding out about her magic before she's damn well good and ready for them to find out about it.

But her father is staring at her like she's grown a second head so Ostara raises her wand and twirls it between her fingers. It's a beautiful thing, truly, a work of art. Eleven and three quarter inches of perfectly straight weirwood, there are delicate veins of red threading through the white of the bark. The handle is the prettiest bit in Ostara's opinion, thicker then the stem of her wand and carved to resemble a mix of the five pointed leaves that grow on the weirwood from which her wand was carved and flowers that Ostara had to truly research to find the name of.

Apparently, they're a type of flower indigenous to the land Beyond the Wall and are known to the people there as Frostfires.

She wonders, briefly, if they were used to make the core of her wand. There's no way to know really, not unless Ostara were to snap her wand in half and take a look at it herself.

Ostara turns her attention away from the delicate carvings to look at her father, who is staring at her wand as if it were a blade.

"Do you know what this is?" She asks.

"Ostara, whatever game you're playing..."

"I'm not playing any games," Ostara says, then she flicks her wand at the door and it slams shut, the bolt sliding into place. "If anyone were to find out that I can perform magic... What would happen if someone found out that I'm capable of doing things much more, let's say, interest then closing and locking a door? I suspect that it could go one of two ways, either they accept it and they keep quiet about it or they don't and someone tries to kill me, or Stannis, or Robert."

Her father is quiet for a long second, the blue of his eyes stormy as he looks between her and the door.

"It is said that our ancestor won the love of a goddess... That she blessed him and his line," her father allows his eyes to settle on her and something in him soften. "How long have you been able to do these things?"

"I've always been able to do them."

"And Stannis? Can he do what you can do?"

"Difficult to say really..."

Unlikely, it's unlikely Stannis has any magical ability. Even if he did it would be a different sort of magic. Like her father said, the Durrandons were blessed by gods and it is believed that Orys Baratheon was the bastard half-brother of King Aegon Targaryen. Whatever magic Stannis might have will never be the same as Ostara's. But her father doesn't need to know that.

Better safe then sorry.

"We can't tell anyone about this, Ostara, you understand that."

"Yes, papa. I understand."

Steffon stares at her for a long moment before moving to kneel before her, hands rising to take cradle her face.

"I understand that you'll want to tell Stannis but I need you to promise me that you won't tell him, or Robert."

"No."

"Ostara this is not up for negotiation."

"I won't tell anyone about this but I won't lie either. If either of my brothers or my mother as about this. I will tell them the truth."

She didn't lie to her parents in her past life but she didn't do right by them either. She'd hidden things, kept things from them, and when the time came she violate their minds and removed any memories they had of her, she'd done it all without their permission. She won't do that to Cassana, or Robert, or Stannis. Her father must understand that because he nods solemnly and moves to kiss her cheek.

"Very well, but I suggest you try to hide it as best you can when we go to King's Landing, yes?"

"Alright."

Her father nods once, kisses her cheek, and leaves her to her own devices without so much as another word to her.

~X~

Ostara's never ridden in a wheelhouse before, she's never left Storm's End either but riding in the wheelhouse is the more interesting of the two. It's like a carriage but move lavish, and much bigger. Ostara sits between Stannis and the window, which gives her a lovely view of the Stormlands as their party makes their way north to King's Landing.

But sightseeing is only so entertaining and if it weren't for the journals Ostara managed to charm to look like the books her Septa has approved for her... Well, Ostara thinks that she might have gone mad nearly three hours ago. Ostara thinks that most of her boredom comes from the fact she she's stuck in the wheelhouse and she wants to practice some of the spells she's learned.

She'll have to wait until they're back at Storm's End and she can sneak into Cressen's work space to make any of the potions mentioned in her journals but she can still practice spells and _oh_ how she wants to do exactly that. It would certainly beat sitting in the wheelhouse with Robert and listen to him prattle on about the might of the Targaryens.

"Mother, is it true that the iron throne is made of swords?" Robert asks and Stannis tenses beside her.

"Yes, Robert."

"Will we see it? I want to see the Iron Throne!"

"Why would you want to? It's ostentatious." Ostara replies, looking up from the journal to smirk at Robert.

The six year old glares at the younger girl and curls his lip a bit.

Ostara loves Robert, she does, but it's so much fun to rile him. Especially when he taunts her just as often and just as much as she taunts him. Besides, Robert's the easiest to joke with out of her brothers. Stannis tries but Ostara gets the distinct impression that he'd rather be doing anything but taunt his little sister or mock his brother. So it's become a sort of silent pact between them.

Robert and Ostara will go at each other as much as their little hearts desire when neither of them wish or intend to hurt the other but they will never _ever_ taunt or mock or tease Stannis if he does not wish to engage in such activities.

"What would you know? You're a _girl,_ " Robert retorts, as if it's actually supposed to upset her. "Girls don't know anything."

"I know what ostentatious means. Do you?" She bites back which causes Stannis to roll his eyes.

"Of course I do! It means that one is pleasant." Robert replies, seeming pleased as punch.

Cassana Baratheon glances up from her embroidery, eyebrow raised, silently telling Ostara to be nice. Ostara smiles sweetly in reply and waits until her mother's attention is back on her project to turn that too sweet grin on Robert.

"I think you're referring to _gracious_ , Robert. Best learn the difference between the two, yes?"

"I've got a word for you." Robert spits.

"Oh? What is it then? I'm certain I'll know it."

Robert's grin is a wicked little thing as he doesn't quite manage to whisper his word of choice, "Bitch."

Their mother's reaction is instant and so is Ostara's. While the older woman berates Robert for his language and demands to know where he heard it (apparently the guards aren't as mindful of their language as they probably should be), Ostara finds herself coughing to cover up her laughter. The only reason it's even remotely funny is because Robert has no idea what the word means and their mother spends a good ten minutes explaining to Robert why he can't call a woman such things.

Eventually Robert promises to never say it again, which is a complete lie and they all know it, and goes back to prattling on about the King much to their mother's relief. While both are distracted Ostara turns to Stannis and smiles impishly. Her twin just stares at her for a long moment before turning his attention back to the puzzle box their father got him for a present.

After a time the wheelhouse settles into comfortable silence and Ostara returns to her reading. She's reading about spells used to bring forth a familiar. It's old magic, no one in her last life had to use the spells seeing as they could go to the Magical Menagerie or any other magical pet shop and purchase their choice of familiar. It's really quite a fascinating spell. Very old.

A foot taps against hers and Ostara looks up to find Robert smiling at her, a bag held aloft between them.

"Stara, would you like a sweet?" Robert asks, and his smile makes her think _Slytherin_.

But she takes the bag all the same, digging inside util she finds a candied orange peel, which she removes from the bag before passing it to Stannis.

"Thank you, Robert." Ostara says before popping the treat in her mouth.

"Anything for you, sweetest sister."

Ostara wonders, briefly, why Stannis appears so put out by their brother's behavior but he pulls out several dried banana slices before handing the bag back to Robert so she doesn't ask. Put out and grouchy is Stannis' default setting. Especially when it comes to Robert. So the four year old drops back to rest against the cushions and eat her treat while Stannis and Robert argue over whether or not they'll be able to meet Barristan Selmy.

~X~

"Mama... It smells." Robert groans as the wheelhouse slides through the poorer district of King's Landing.

He's not lying. It smells like there isn't a proper sewage system available to the common folk. Ostara doesn't doubt that as a result many of the people living in places like Flea Bottom (and if that doesn't tell you enough about the state of that area Ostara doesn't know what will) probably just dump their waste in the streets.

"Hush Robert, we're almost to the Keep and you mustn't let the King hear you say such things."

 _Yes_ , Ostara thinks bitterly, _because he couldn't possibly know the state of his subject's living conditions_.

Ostara turns her attention to the window and frowns. The path they're taking keeps them away from anything that could be considered unsightly but Ostara can still smell unwashed bodies and waste clogging the streets. It's disgusting and Ostara thinks that at some point she'll just have to take a little tour of King's Landing at some point during this little trip.

~X~

When Ostara steps out of the Wheelhouse she finds a man with golden hair and jade green eyes staring at her family. He's a tall man, broad, and the cut of his doublet does very little to hide that. Ostara almost finds herself afraid of the man, which is absolutely ridiculous seeing as she's more then capable of defending herself verbally and physically.

Not that she has much to worry about? Her father seems fond of him... Fond enough to go up and clap the man on his velvet clad shoulder in any case.

"Tywin, old friend, how are you?" Steffon laughs.

"As well as I was last we met." The man, Tywin, replies.

"Good! Come, you've yet to meet my youngest."

Then she and Stannis are being guided by their mother to stand before the man and Ostara has to crane her head back in order to meet his eye. She curtsies prettily when Stannis offers the bow he and Ostara had practiced in her room over the past week. It's the same bow he'll give to the King and his family but there's no problem with using it now.

"My son, Stannis," their father ruffles the boy's hair and causes him to frown, "and my daughter, Ostara."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Tywin." She greets, smiling prettily at the tall man.

"Hm, yes," his attention drifts from Ostara and Stannis to linger on their mother, "Lady Baratheon."

"Lord Lannister how is your wife? I heard your children celebrated their name's day recently." Their mother says, sweet and kindly like a perfect lady.

"Joanna is well, thank you."

There is so much joy in the man's voice when he says it, completely ignoring the fact that Cassana had mentioned his children. Twins, if Ostara remembers correctly, and only two years younger then Ostara and Stannis. Cassana had laughed about that when she'd heard that such a dear friend had given birth to twins as well. Frankly, Ostara doesn't understand her mother's relationship with Joanna Lannister.

In all of her years Ostara has never once heard mention of Joanna Lannister unless someone else either brings her up or mentions someone associated with her. And yet her mother considers her a dear friend? When Ostara thinks of dear friends she thinks of Harry and Ron and running off to participate in battles they're wholly unprepared for because Harry needed them.

Maybe it's different here?

Ostara purses her lips and watches as Tywin Lannister motions for them to follow him into the keep.

"Come, the King is expecting you." He says before turning on his heel and making his way out of the courtyard, the golden thread in his doublet glinting dully in the mid-morning light.

~X~

When they enter the throne room a man in a black doublet smiles at them from his place on the throne. No, not them, he is smiling at Steffon Baratheon who continues to make his way toward the throne, which is just as ostentatious as Ostara had assumed. There's no reason to have a throne made of over two thousand enemy swords but there it is, menacing and strangely elegant in its macabre fashion.

"Steffon, old friend, your journey was unhindered I take it?" The King asks, already having descended from his throne to embrace Ostara's father.

No one in the room seems surprised, Ostara's not all that surprised either. They are cousins after all, and boyhood friends to boot. Why wouldn't they be fond enough of one another to show at least some affection?

"My journey was short and swift, I assure you." Steffon laughs, the harsh furrow commonly found between his brow easing a bit.

"Good, good. Now, introduce me to your children." King Aerys demands.

Ostara reaches out to take Stennis' hand in her own, fingers curling tight, and her brother says nothing about the sudden clamminess of her palms as the silver haired man approaches them.

He's not what Ostara had expected.

As a product of generations worth of incest Ostara had expected fluctuating facial asymmetry or a misshapen skull or even clubbed feet, she'd expected him to exhibit any of the numerous genetic mutations produced by interbreeding. He shows none of them physically, instead he's all sharp cheekbones and full lips and pretty, pretty lilac eyes.

Whatever genetic mutations he's got, and he's got them Ostara's sure, none of them are physical.

Her father's voice disrupts her thoughts and makes her look over to where he's standing. "My heir, Robert," the boy in question bows stiffly but he can't seem to still his hands which shake with his excitement, "my son, Stannis," another bow but Stannis has always been a stoic boy and so he does not shake, "and finally my daughter, Ostara."

Ostara curtsies as she'd been taught before shifting to press closer to her mother who runs a gentle hand over her curls.

Aerys smiles charmingly at her, "My, you're a pretty one."

"Thank you, Your Grace." She replies, careful to keep her eyes soft.

"And so well spoken," Aerys laughs and turns to smirk at her father. "Best watch this one Steffon."

Her father's response is a soft chuckle which fades into a soft smile as a beautiful woman with silver hair moves to stand beside the King, whose sudden tension does not go unnoticed to Ostara.

"My Queen, a pleasure to see you." Steffon greets and the woman smiles.

"I am so glad you could attend the celebration, cousin, it's been so long since last we've seen one another."

Nearly three years. Ostara remembers the last time her father had gone to King's Landing. He hadn't taken any of his family with him but he'd returned with little gifts from the royal family. Robert had gotten a practice sword, Stannis had gotten finely carved marble figures that he still plays with, and for Ostara there had been a pretty little red haired porcelain doll with big eyes and a gown covered in fine embroidery.

She doesn't play with the doll but even she can see that it's incredibly well made.

They'd all been gifts from this woman, Ostara suspects, for she has a young son and it's unlikely that she wouldn't know what little boys and girls enjoy playing with. So even if Steffon had said that they were gifts from the royal family as a whole Ostara knows that it was Rhaella who chose them.

"And every time I return you are still the most beautiful woman in the realm." Steffon says before moving to press a chaste kiss to the woman's slender fingers.

"Come," the King interrupts, eyes narrowing just so slightly as he move to pull the Lord of Storm's End away. "There's so much to do and so little time to do it. So much has been planned for Rhaegar's name day and I..." His voice trails away as he and Steffon make their way toward the door. Ostara watches them for a moment before allowing her own mother and the Queen to usher her and the other children from the room.


	4. This is not Death

"Ostara, darling, lift your arms."

The four year old does as she's told. Lifting her arms so that her mother can help her slip a gown over her head. Once her head is free and her hands are through the sleeves she lowers her arms and turns to that her mother can help her do the buttons up on the back, and as the older woman works Ostara stares at her reflection in the mirror hanging from the wall.

She likes her dress, it's a deep rose pink with silver flowers embroidered along the neckline and hems. A gift from Queen Rhaella or so her mother had claimed when she'd swept into Ostara room earlier with three maids carrying a tub and several buckets of water trailing close behind.

"You must be on your very best behavior today." Her mother says as she begins to carefully weave Ostara's hair into a braid commonly seen in the Stormlands.

"Yes, mother."

Cassana ties the braid off with a silver ribbon and presses a chaste kiss to Ostara's cheek. When she notices Ostara staring at her through the mirror Cassana spins the little girl around and offers an impish grin more commonly seen on Robert then the Lady of Storm's End.

"Today we will break our fast with Queen Rhaella and you will be introduced to Prince Rhaegar. Typically you and your brothers would have met him at the feast tonight but as you're family and of a similar age the Queen and I believe that it would do you all some good."

"You want us to be friends."

Her mother's eyes are so incredibly soft. "Yes, I want that very much."

"I'm four, the Prince is nine. I highly doubt he'll want to be my friend."

"Oh hush, the prince is only just turning nine and will enjoy your company if nothing else," Her mother laughs. "Come, we mustn't keep the Queen waiting." Her mother takes her hand as she speaks and rising so that she may guide Ostara from the room.

And the little girl allows it because her wand is stuck in her stocking and her mother seems so excited and, frankly, Ostara could use some breakfast. Afterward she'll slip away with Stannis and leave Robert to entertain the prince but she thinks that she could suffer through one morning of awkward conversation if it means getting something to eat.

~X~

Breakfast is extravagant, full of meats and eggs and fresh fruits all spread out on a large oak table that had been carried out into the gardens at one point this morning upon either the Queen's request or Cassana's. It's almost overwhelming and Ostara keeps quiet as she is guided to a seat between Robert and Stannis. She doesn't sit though, not until she's been properly introduced to the prince.

He's a sad looking boy to say the least but very sweet mannered.

Ostara watches as he kisses her mother's hand, commenting on how her ring is finely crafted and that Lord Baratheon did well in choosing it for her. Then he turns and bows to the three Baratheon children lingering near their mother, greeting them softly and smiling at Ostara when he straightens. She merely curtsies to him before moving to take her seat.

An hour passes, two, and all of the children at the table have long since finished their food. But Ostara's mother and the Queen are engaged in amiable conversation and none of the children would ever dare to interrupt their mothers. No matter how anxious they might become. But the minutes keep ticking by and Ostara's starting to wonder how long it'll take for them to wrap their conversation up or tell the children fidgetting in their seats that they can leave.

"I'm bored." Robert whispers to Ostara.

"You're always bored." Stannis remarks just as softly which causes Robert to begin muttering about lacking manners and little siblings.

Eventually Ostara grows tired of it and slides out of her seat to make her way over to the Queen. She passes the prince on her way and his eyes follow her as Ostara moves to stand beside the Queen where she reaches up to very gently tap the woman's forearm. When the Queen's attention is on her Ostara bows her head, rocks back on her heels, and looks up at the woman through her lashes.

"May we be excused to go and play, Your Grace?" She asks, because it's common courtesy to ask the adults at the table if you can leave before actually leaving.

The queen smiles at her and nods as she replies with a softly spoken, "Of course, sweet girl. Rhaegar?"

"Yes mother?"

"Would you be a dear and show the Baratheon children the dragon skulls should they wish it?" Rhaella asks to which her son bows his silver head and rises from his seat.

Ostara curtsies to the woman before saying, "Thank you, Your Grace!"

She and the other children don't waste any time in leaving their mothers to their own devices though once they're out of sight Ostara stops and turns to the boys who have followed her. Robert, as expected, is bouncing on the balls of his feet, perhaps too excited about the idea of seeing real life dragon skulls. Stannis looks like he couldn't care less either way.

Prince Rhaegar, however, is staring at her as if she confuses him. And maybe she does. Either way it doesn't matter. Ostara's not all that interested in looking at dragon skulls. She'd seen plenty of them in her last life when she'd gone to Romania with Ron to visit Charlie. While it might be fascinating to anyone else, and Ostara can respect that, she'd much rather see the library.

When she says as much Robert scoffs and tells her to do something fun for once, Ostara ignores him. She's good at ignoring Robert. But she hadn't expected the dimpled grin that stretches across the young prince's face when she alludes to her love of books... And, well, she just can't seem to find it in her to ignore his smile the way she ignores Roberts.

~X~

Later that day Stannis finds her curled up on a window seat in the library, a book of Targaryen history spread open across her lap, and her head resting against the wall just beside the stained glass window that offers her more precious light then the candles littered about the room. Her brother toddles over and clambers up to sit with her, smiling thinly when she meet his gaze.

She's shocked to find hurt lingering in her brother's normally stoic features.

"Hello Stannis."

"Stara."

"What are you doing here, Stannis? Did you grow bored of Robert?" She asks.

And her brother's eyes grow teary as he bows his head.

Without thought Ostara closes her book, sets it aside, and scoots closer to her brother who clenches and relaxes his jaw at an almost alarming rate.

"Stannis? What happened?"

"He left me."

"Robert?"

"Yes."

"Why would he do that? Weren't the two of you going to accompany the prince to his lessons?"

Instead of answering Stannis just shrugs and Ostara's concern for one brother turns to spitting anger directed at the other. It isn't unknown that Robert and Stannis aren't close but they're brothers and sometimes Robert's behavior is deplorable. Oh well, it's Robert's loss.

Ostara leans back against the stained glass and watches her brother for a long moment before nudging his shoulder.

"Stara?"

"When we get back to Storm's End... I've something very important to show you. But you mustn't ever tell Robert."

"Why?"

"Because it's our secret, yours and mine." Ostara laughs.

If the guards assigned to her cast her a glance Ostara ignores it. They're loyal to House Baratheon and Ostara sees them every day. Obliviating them will be easy in comparison to some of the other things she's had to do over the past year or so. And when Stannis' smile turns soft and sweet Ostara can't find it in herself to be worried about whether or not the guards will run to her father or mother. Not when her brother looks happier then she's seen him since they came to King's Landing.

"Alright."

"Alright," Ostara pulls away and opens her book up. "Would you like to read with me?"

When Stannis nods his head Ostara spreads her book out across both of their laps and begins reciting the words writing on the page in a soft, clear tone which travels no further then the two Baratheon guards standing not three feet away. And she continues to read until her mother comes to collect them for the feast, shooting Stannis a delighted grin as she allows their mother to guide them from the bench.

~X~

"My father enjoys music." Rhaegar explains later that evening when yet another singer has been called to sing during the celebrations.

Dinner ended ages ago and Ostara's mouth still tastes like pie and sugar and sweets. Her tongue is heavy with it and the back of her throat tastes vaguely sour. Water had been placed on the end of the table where the children were guided to sit upon entering the great hall, thank Merlin. Ostara thinks that if it weren't for the water she'd have died from all the sugar she's eaten.

"Do you enjoy music, cousin?" Robert asks, attempting to appear bigger and older then he is.

Ostara watches as the Prince smile faintly at the younger boy. "I enjoy reading a great deal more."

Robert's face creases as he frowns and says, "Ostara likes to read. Father mentioned she might try to make off with your libr-ow! Gods!"

"Sorry, foot slipped." Stannis remarks blandly.

Robert's face is bashful and he stammers out something about tourneys in an attempt to cover his previous mistake. They'd all been told to watch their tongues while in the capital, not an incredibly difficult task for Ostara and Stannis as one knows when to hold her tongue and the other rarely speaks to others of personal matters to begin with. It's a bit harder for Robert though, he gets so excited about the prospect of making a friend that he forgets sometimes that not everyone needs to know their personal business.

Rhaegar looks between them for a moment before turning to her, and she swears to whatever Gods are listening that if he says something condescending about her being too little to read she's going to kick him in the kneecap. He doesn't, mock her that is. Instead he smiles and tilts his head to the side a bit and Ostara feels like he's going to _engage_ her in an intellectual conversation... Or as intellectual as it can get when she's trying to act closer to her age and he's still so young.

But this is what she's trained for. Kind of. Years of babysitting for the Weasleys and Harry whenever the adults wanted to go do something without the kids (Which typically ended with yet another Weasley to add to the every growing family tree) has given Ostara prime conversation topics and skills. _She's got this_.

"You enjoy reading, Ostara?"

She nods, "Yes."

"Do you have a favorite?"

"Not yet, no. I enjoy legends though."

Somehow the conversation ends nearly thirty minutes later when Ostara's mother comes to collect her children and usher them to bed. She and Rhaegar are discussing old Valyrian legends and comparing them to legends from other places in the known world. It's surprisingly good fun and Ostara manages to get away with telling the young prince off more often then not due to her age. It's odd to think that she's enjoying bantering with the prince, or bantering as much as she's able to banter without seeming like a child throwing a tantrum, and when her mother comes to guide her off Ostara finds herself hoping that she and Rhaegar have started something of a friendship.

~X~

"Are you enjoying King's Landing, Ostara?" Rhaella asks the little girl only a day before she and her family are set to leave.

Rhaella isn't sure what to think of the little girl Cassana brought with her to King's Landing. She's too intense for a child her age, too intense and too bright and too capable. When she'd mentioned it to Casssana her old friend had merely shrugs and told her that Ostara was special, that it was the will of the Gods and she had no right to question that.

She supposes that it's unfair to judge Ostara the way she has. Ostara still fidgets when she's bored, still allows her eyes to wonder when she's supposed to be paying attention, still taunts her elder brother Robert the way children are wont to do. She is still a _child_. What right does Rhaella have to judge Ostara? The girl is odd, yes, perhaps too smart for her own good, but that means nothing in the grand scheme of things.

So why does the child make her nervous?

Perhaps it is the girl's eyes.

Constantly pinprick pupils floating in a sea of purple so deep it appears unnatural. They appeared alert, always cattish and hungry as they drift from person to person and back again. Upturned at the outer corner and curtained by a sharp sweep of black that only seemed to enunciate the color of her eyes. If she were hard pressed Rhaella would say her eyes were the color of a plum. Purple, yes, but with a hint of red mixed in. A color that had never been recorded on any Targaryen Rhaella had learned of as a child under her mother's careful tutelage.

They were not the eyes of a little girl.

Too keen, too aware.

Rhaella feels like she's drowning every time the girl looks at her. Like Ostara Baratheon is picking her apart, observing her flaws and weaknesses and making note of her strengths before leaving the tangled mess behind for Rhaella to deal with.

"Yes, Your Grace, very much." Ostara Baratheon replies, voice clear and strong as a summer wind, but her eyes only lift from her book for but a second before she goes back to reading.

"I'm glad," Rhaella says, and then. "Rhaegar has told me that the two of you have discussed books."

"Yes, the Prince is very good company."

Rhaella's honestly a bit surprised. Her son, as sweet as he is and as kind, does not make friends easily. Perhaps it is a good thing Ostara Baratheon came to court, her love of books has certainly been noted and Rhaella suspects that it is the reason her son has sought her out. Even if the age difference between them meant that they might not be capable of reading the same books.

She suspects her son is lonely.

She suspects Ostara is a little lonely too.

"Have you met any girls your age, Ostara?" Rhaella asks.

"Hm? Oh... Yes. Alysanne Tarth is my age but she's never at Storm's End... There's Cerys, though she's always busy."

"Cerys? Is she a Lord's daughter?"

Something utterly defiant fills the little girl's face and her shoulders become incredibly tense as she shakes her head and says, "No. Cerys is a servant but she's my age and she's kind... We're friends."

And that's that. Rhaella doesn't try to tell her that she can't be friends with a servant, can't tell her that she should find more suitable friends to play with, because it wouldn't do any good for her to try and, frankly, she thinks that as long as Ostara Baratheon wants to be friends with a servant girl then she'll be friends with a servant girl.

Rhaella smiles fondly at the little girl before taking a sip of her tea.

~X~

They leave King's Landing the next morning. Robert gushes about having seen the King at court, ruling over his people as King's are supposed to do, Stannis seems equally as mystified by the experience. Ostara can't believe either of her siblings thought that Tywin Lannister, the man they'd met and interacted with not a week before, was King Aerys. She's almost a little disappointed in their observation skills.

But she can't think about their misconceptions for too long because King Aerys gave them each a present and he'd given Ostara a book of High Valyrian translated into more common dialects. It's like an English-to-Valyrian dictionary and Ostara absolutely loves it.

Curling up on the padded bench in the Wheelhouse while her brothers play with the daggers gifted too them. They've been blunted of course so unless Robert or Stannis are really trying to kill each other no harm with come to either of them while they play, Cassana keeps both eyes on them as they bolt around the space all-the-same. Which is good for Ostara because she can curl up on the bench with her new book and the journal spread across her lap and no one will bother her.

Translating is easy enough, it's making out the words that Ostara struggles with.

But she starts on the very first page where the ink has worn down the most and someone's signature is scrawled across the bottom of the page. Ostara waits to attempt making out the faded letters until she's got the rest of the page translated. It's a task that takes longer then it should but eventually Ostara manages to make out enough of the writing to understand some of what's been written.

 _skori se mele qēlos bleeds se se sȳndror gathers, Azōr Ahaī kessa sagon āzma arlī amidst ōrbar se lopor naejot wake zaldrīzoti hen hen dōron._

 _When the red star bleed and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone._

It's only a partial translation, there's still so much to make out and translate. But what little bit she'd been able to make out had been enough to stir something in her gut. Something old and primal in ways Ostara's only felt a few scant times during her life as Hermione Granger.

Without much thought Ostara moves onto the name scribbled at the bottom of the page in faded ink.

She squints at it, pulls the journal closer, tilts it a certain way so that the light from the sun hits it better but no matter what she does the words remain too faint for her to make out. Ostara scowls as she settles back to begin seeing if you can make out any of the letter and piece the name together that way. A chore if ever there was one. It takes her a good thirty minutes of flipping through the journal and comparing the style of writing she can read to the faint letters and the Valyrian alphabet printed on the newer book she'd been given.

As it turns out Ostara was right about one thing. It's a name.

A name that takes at least an hour to decipher but Ostara manages it with a triumphant grin and a soft huff of laughter that isn't laughter.

Renaehra Vaelmaereon.

Ostara feels sick. The world around her is spinning faster and faster. She's barely aware of closing her books, wrapping them up in soft cloth, and stuffing them into her travel back before moving to stretch out across the bench so that she can lay her head in the cradle of her arms. It takes her so suddenly, this dizziness, that she doesn't even have the mind to wonder if it's a curse, to wonder if she's dying.

She's not.

She knows that much.

Even as inky blackness pulls her into sweet oblivion Ostara knows that whatever's happening to her is better then death... Or perhaps much, much worse.

~X~

Her dreams are full of a woman with pale white hair and eyes so dark they appear black in the firelight. There's a dragon curled around her neck, a little black thing with molten eyes and talons a sort of off-amber color. A beautiful woman in her prime with Valyrian cheekbones and a bottom lip that puffs out slightly.

Ostara knows her, just as she knows herself.

Knows that her name is Renaehra and she's the first born daughter of the Dragon Lord Malaevor Vaelmaereon. She's got a younger brother named Jacaegon and a little sister named Baenna. Her mother is dead and she is in love with a slave in her father's household.

She is also a witch.

A powerful one too, capable of magics Ostara's never heard of before. But she writes her findings and her spells and her potions in her journals where they remain safe under her protection. The only other person allowed to see was her lover, a dark eyed man with a smile that made Renaehra's heart flutter stupidly in her chest. They'd been happy, she and her lover, despite everything. Despite him being her brother's slave and she a woman soon to marry.

They were happy, and then they weren't.

Happy until every hill in Valyria erupted in a spray of ash and fire and smoke that tore even the dragons from the sky, the Fourteen Flames where Renaehra would go to collect some of her plants for her potions let forth molten rock that shot a thousand feet into the air and the red clouds had rained down dragon glass that had sunk into soft flesh and delicate membranes. Lakes boiled and turned to acid and steam, temples and towns and castles crumbled as the earth shook, and no matter how much magic Renaehra poured into her wards and her barriers there was nothing she could do to stop the Doom.

And so she sought out her lover and she found him near death.

Healing him had proved impossible, her magic drained as it was, and leaving him had not been an option. So Renaehra Maelmaereon had stayed by his side and siphoned his pain from his body. And when the Doom came to claim her life and his as well the Valyrian girl had laid her forehead against her love's still chest and had allowed darkness to claim her.

~X~

"We've been here before, haven't we?" Ostara asks, the tears drying on her cheeks ignored.

 _Yes_.

"When did it start?"

The hooded being standing beside her is quiet, still, naught but one shadow among hundreds in the godswood of Storm's End.

Ostara's been home all of three days and it feels like she's walking in a dream. Like none of this is real and tomorrow she'll wake in a bed made of ash and bones. It's a terrible thing, knowing what's happened to Renaehra and Hermione, capable witches who died terrible deaths, and knowing she cannot stop it if that is to be her fate as well. She wonders if she's always died in terrible ways, wonders if it's best not to know.

Apparently the being beside her thinks she should.

Why else would he have given her the journals? Why else would he have let her seen what she's seen.

 _Years ago and for years to come._

"Why are you so damn cryptic all the time? Just tell me I'm cursed and be done with it."

 _No, not cursed._

"Not cursed? You don't really expect me to believe that do you?"

 _You have been here before. And you've fought for these people before. In a different body, by a different name, wearing a different face but it is always the same... You are always the same. In this life and in the next._

Ostara frowns up at the being staring down at her.

The being that reaches out to trace a finger through the wet path her tears have made. And when he pulls away his finger shines prettily in the flashes of lightning that rip around the sky. Ostara watches as the tear soaked finger disappears into the being's robes and only has enough time to look up and see a flash of honey gold eyes before he is gone and she is left standing in the godswood with nothing but her wand and a five pointed leaf dangling from her fingers.


	5. This is Something Safer

Telling Stannis about her magic is surprisingly easy and he takes it in stride far better then Ostara would have thought. There's no jealousy, no demands for her to teach him her tricks, no yelling about how it must be a joke. He merely stares at her and the flower petals that she has transformed into little butterflies for a long, long moment and sighs.

"I won't tell Robert." He says it with a resignation that makes Ostara frown before she smiles and moves to hug her brother.

"Thank you, Stannis." She breaths against his shoulder.

He'll be taller then her one day, he's already taller by at least a quarter of an inch but Ostara suspects he's going to be at least six feet,but he's got a ways to go yet before that happens. Ostara isn't sure how she feels about growing up. If she's right about her assumptions then she was brought here and given this life because something _bad_ is coming. _He_ always seems to place her where something bad is coming or happening already. Hermione had lived in a world filled with war. Renaehra has lived and died in the Doom. The other lives she's lived are lost to her but Ostara doubts she lived peacefully and died in her sleep.

So what does that mean for her? For Stannis and Robert? Will they be sucked into whatever's coming too? Ostara hopes not. The thought of either brother going to war, and possibly dying in it, makes her stomach twist painfully. As much as she wishes she could protect them, ensure their safety for the rest of their lives, they'll be men grown one day and Ostara knows what happens when people try meddling in things they shouldn't meddle in.

Fate has a funny way of overcoming obstacles and scissor kicking you in the throat if you try to avoid or outwit her.

With a small frown Ostara pulls away and cancels the spell, watching passively as the butterflies turn back to browning rose petals and float away on the lazy morning breeze.

"Can you spell my boots? I want to run faster then Robert." Stannis says after a moment which causes Ostara to laugh.

"He'll only find something else to tease you about, Stannis."

Petulantly, her brother crosses his arms and kicks the dirt before muttering, "He's already mocking Proudwing."

Ah yes, the little injured goshawk that Stannis has adopted.

"Well, he's a prat. Ignore him."

"Uncle Harbert says I should abandon him." Stannis whispers.

"Don't you dare! Uncle Harbert and Robert are just bullies. _I_ think Proudwing is lovely."

"He can't even fly."

"He can too! And very well for that matter."

Stannis offers her a thin smile but shrugs sadly. "I don't know what to do."

"Like I said, Proudwing is yours... You claimed him, you kept him healthy, he is your responsibility. You cannot abandon him because of something others think of as a weakness."

"Isn't it?"

"No. No, Proudwing is just special."

"Tell that to Robert."

Ostara smiles and moves to dump her shoulder against her brothers. When he looks at her Ostara wiggles her eyebrows suggestively.

"Do you want me to? I'll use big words and everything. Confuse him until he's forgotten all about Proudwing." Ostara snorts as she steps around Stannis to begin making her way back to the Keep.

"Robert hates big words." Stannis says.

"Exactly."

Her brother's smile is softer, sweeter even, then the sharp stretch that usually overtakes his mouth whenever he smiles. It makes the tension in Ostara's stomach ease a bit. The tension leaves her all together when Stannis darts passed her, little hand shoving playfully against her shoulder in the seconds he's lingering by her side. Ostara doesn't think, just laughs and gathers her skirts and chases after her brother.

~X~

Crookshanks had been a good familiar. Very intelligent and very loyal. He hadn't been the most attractive thing but he'd chosen Hermione Granger and she'd chosen him and it had been a good like they'd lived together. Ostara wonders if the part-kneazle would recognize her now. Has she changed so much from what she used to be that her beloved cat would growl and claw at her?

Gods, the thought of it makes Ostara sad.

She'd never much thought of having a familiar in this world, in this life, nor had she considered a pet. Not for lack of wanting one but more for the fact that Ostara's never actually considered it and the possibilities. Steffon and Cassana would likely be extremely open to the idea of her getting something like a cat or a dog, maybe even a bird of some sort, and would just as likely go out of their way to acquire her the very best of whatever domesticated animal her little heart might desire.

Ostara just tells them that she's perfectly content not keeping a pet and after a time her parents leave her be.

Apparently, _someone_ didn't get the picture.

He comes in the middle of the night and wakes her with a wave of something that feels like ice water seeping into the spaces between her bones. Ostara glares at him and remains curled in her bed even after he's materialized a very fine cloak the likes of which Ostara's never seen before and tossed it onto her bed.

 _Come_.

"You know, if we're going to keep doing this I'm going to need something to call you," Ostara mutters grumpily as she swings her legs out of the bed. "I can't keep calling you _That Fucker._.. As therapeutic as it is."

The hooded being pauses for a long moment before bowing his head, _Mephistopheles_.

"You're kidding right? Mephistopheles?" Ostara cannot believe this. "I'm not calling you that. Why would you _want_ to be called that?"

 _I like his work._

"He literally just collects souls of the damned. You do that every day." The being just stares at her and so Ostara huffs out an annoyed breath and gives in, "Fine. Phil. Does that would for you?"

 _Phil... Yes._

"Alright then," Ostara pulls the heavy cloak around her and pulls up the hood so it covers her hair.

Wherever he's taking her must be important because Ostara gets the feeling that he's so very excited, boyish almost in his exuberance... All internal feeling of course, on the outside Phil is nothing but stoic and composed. Good for him. Ostara hopes he gets a fucking ulcer. He'd certainly deserve it. Because it's what? Three in the morning and he's dragging her out of bed to go on, apparently, some great adventure.

Fuck that.

Snatching her wand from under her pillow Ostara frowns.

"Well?" She asks and the hooded being merely reaches out to take hold of her arms before pulling her into shadowy nothing.

When the world materialized again Ostara retches and retches until she's left to heave up nothing. It hadn't been like apparition like Ostara had been foolish enough to expect. Once she finished heaving she wipes the back of her hand across her mouth and straightens.

 _Come_.

Ostara doesn't protest, just follows the creature as he makes his way across the rocky terrain. He's taken them to a mountain, and judging from the temperature Ostara would bet decent money on them currently trekking through the Mountains of the Moon. She sticks close to the being, Phil, as he leads her through the shadowed passes. They stop just before the opening of a small cave.

 _Go_.

She does. Not even needing to hunker down as she makes her way deeper and deeper into the mountain, figuring that if he wanted her dead then she'd have been dead a long time ago. Children get sick and die all the time, why would he even need to put in the effort of taking her from Storm's End? Ostara grits her teeth as she presses on.

 _drip, drip, drip._

Ostara pauses, wand aloft, but it's just condensation dripping from the rocky ceiling above her and so Ostara decides not to linger.

Eventually the tunnel flares out into a larger chamber, it's warmer here and darker too, which forces Ostara to summon up pretty white light that hovers at the tip of her wand as she moves deeper into the chamber.

Something was living here at one point. There are bones scattered about and a pile of shed fur pushed into a into the back of the chamber, there's even a bit of blood on the ground but it's long since dried and... Something presses against her foot. Ostara jerks away from whatever it is and moves to point her wand at whatever the offending creature may be.

It's not anything dangerous, Ostara comes to realize when she sees the little shadowcat cub mewling softly, not at the moment anyway. The poor little beast's eyes aren't even open yet.

"Hello, did I hurt you?" Ostara asks, kneeling to scoop the cub into her arms.

There's no guilt, no wondering if the mother will come for it because it's so obvious that this one was left behind. It's half starved already, too thin and too light in her arms and suckling desperately at the skin of her hand. She checks to make sure none of the poor thing's litter mates were left behind, and upon finding nothing but bones and shed fur Ostara leaves with the cub tucked carefully in her arms.

Phil is waiting for her when she exits the cave.

"Take me home please, Phil." She says to the being and this time she doesn't retch when phil deposits her back into her bedroom.

~X~

"Where did you get it?" Her mother demands the next morning when Ostara enters the great hall with her new familiar tucked in her arms.

"I found him." Ostara offers as she pours some milk into a bowl so that she can dip a cloth into it to feed her shadowcat.

"Yes, but _where_?"

Ostara just shrugs.

She's going to need to name him... Something strong. Something that reminds her of another time. And memories of a wild haired man taller then life dances in her mind. A man with warm eyes and gentle hands and a laugh that used to make Hermione's eardrums ache.

Rubeus, she'll name him Rubeus.

"Ostara... You must understand that this is not a kitten." Her mother sounds panicked and the sound of it makes Ostara's stomach clench.

"I know, but he was alone and he was starving." Ostara offers the milk saturated cloth to the cub and watches as he suckles greedily for a moment before turning back to her mother.

Cassana Baratheon is wearing a hairnet peppered in topaz and amber to match the embroidery on her gown. She looks lovely, even with the fear that's creeping into her eyes and causing her mouth to pinch unpleasantly.

"Darling girl, you can't... What I mean to say is that... It's not safe for you keep him."

"But he's so little! Please mother, let me keep him! I'll train him so well you'd never know he wasn't a domesticated cat!"

Her mother begins to shake her head and Ostara fears she'll have to resort to actual begging and crying to convince her mother to let her keep the shadowcat. Thankfully, her father steps in before such an action can be taken. Reaching out to smooth his hands over Cassana's slender shoulders and place a chaste kiss to her cheek before smiling softly at her.

"Oh, let her keep it Cas. What harm can it do?" Her father asks.

"None at the moment." Her mother retorts acidly.

Her father's eyes are warm blue pools as he looks at his wife. "A deal then. If the beast grows and he begins to show signs of aggression then I will handle it personally."

By handle it her father means he will kill Rubeus and it seems to put her mother at ease enough for her to accept his bargain.

"What's his name then?" Cassana asks, sounding oddly resigned.

There's no hesitation, no split second to think about it, Ostara just says, "Rubeus." and her parents return to their meal. Ostara makes sure to leave before Robert arrives for breakfast and goes to find Stannis instead of heading off to her lessons with the Septa.

~X~

Rubeus grows fast in the months that follow, by the time Lord Arryn has sent a raven agreeing to foster Robert at the Vale Rubeus is hovering in the space between Ostara's hip and her knee and continues to grow. He'll be about the size of a tiger, Ostara suspects, or at least a lion. He'll be strong too, he's strong already, and while it makes her mother slightly nervous Ostara absolutely loves it.

She loves Rubeus.

Silly and sweet and gentle Rubeus who sleeps at the foot of her bed and watches over her from Stannis' side when she does her magic. He is a good familiar, Ostara couldn't have asked for anything else and she is so very thankful for his company... Even if it does mean she's become something of a source of awe among the people of Storm's End and some of the other houses.

Word travels quickly in Westeros it would seem.

Ostara's going to have to keep and eye on that. Wouldn't want anyone catching sight of her doing magic and run off to tell the entire bloody country. It wouldn't be good for anyone if that happened and so Ostara will just have to be more careful about when and where she practices her magic. So she's taken to practicing in the godswood, no one really worships the Old Gods here and fortunately enough for Ostara the small wooded area is always empty at night.

Rubeus tends to curl up among the roots of the weirwood tree to watch her, eyes a soft sort of burnt honey color that glows in the darkness. It would be terrifying to anyone else being watched by him. Ostara's not afraid though, more annoyed then anything really. He's been staring at her for the past bloody hour.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Ostara asks, looking up from the neatly transfigured trunk.

It's similar to the one she'd kept when she'd gone to Hogwarts, but smaller and with more compartments on the inside for storage. The chest under her bed, while good for hiding things, isn't necessarily the best thing to store items in. This way Ostara can hide her journals and her own notes and whatever transfigured items she wants. There's also a compartment to store potions when ostara manages to get the ingredients.

Most of the plants or animal parts she'll need to make potions ingredients can be found on Westeros or if nothing else they can be ordered and bought from places like Essos or Braavos. Unfortunately there are a good few potions ingredients Ostara can't get in this world, which means that the next time she sees Phil she's going to have to put in a personal request for him to, at the very least, give her the resources to grow or breed her own ingredients.

Ostara's not even worried about being caught at this point either.

Caves and abandoned keeps litter the whole of Westeros and Ostara can still apparate, maybe not right this second but when she's a bit older and her magic's had more time to settled into her body then there won't be anything stopping her.

"How would you like to visit Harrenhal? I'm sure it wouldn't be too terribly difficult to ward the ruins... Besides, I should think ghost stories and rumor would be enough to keep people away, hm?"

Rubues just stares at her for a long moment before licking his maw and curling to rest his head on his paws so that he might rest comfortably among the tree roots and the grass and the five pointed stars that have fallen from the branches above their head. Ostara rolls her eyes but closes up her trunk and shrinks it down so she can slip it into her stocking before moving to gather up her familiar so that she can carry him back to the keep.


	6. The Woods are lovely, Dark and Deep

"Ostara... Ostara... Ostara wake up."

Cerys tugs anxiously at her friend's arm and leans in closer so that she might be heard. She isn't supposed to be here, it is not her place to be here nor is it her right to impose upon the young Lady of House Baratheon... But Ostara is her friend. Ostara gives her treats and little trinkets and had insisted that she and the other servants' children be taught to read until Maester Cressen and Lord Baratheon had relented and made room for lessons every sixth day so as not to impose upon the good Maester or to hinder the children's chores.

It had been, perhaps, the kindest thing anyone had ever done for her.

With a sigh Cerys turns to look at the shadowcat sprawled across the bed.

He's a great beast of a thing, all lean muscle and wickedly sharp fangs, but Gods is he beautiful. Cerys bites her lip as she moves to nudge the shadowcat's paw with her finger before stepping back hastily lest she startle the sleeping creature. She doesn't startle him, thank the Gods, and he opens one yellow eye to stare at her through the darkness of Ostara's bedchamber.

"Help me wake your mistress." Cerys whispers once she's found her voice again.

A soft huff and a sharp snap of teeth as the beast yawns follows Cerys' demand but soon enough he's moving to press his nose between Ostara's shoulder and the bed and giving a mighty shove which causes the young Lady to groan loudly.

Cerys moves to shake the girl further into consciousness.

"Ostara, get up."

"Why?"

"Because I have something to give you."

"But it's so late."

"Please, for me?"

One purple eyes opens, then the other, and soon Ostara Baratheon is moving to prop herself up on an arm so that she can look at Cerys properly. She looks tired and worn but Cerys could attribute that to being woken at such a late hour. Guilt settles in her stomach. She hadn't meant to cause Ostara any trouble. She really hadn't. Heat rushes up to her cheeks as Cerys pulls her gift from the pocket of her night dress.

"I... I made this for you... It's not the best and I understand if you don't like it," Gods, she's so stupid. "Go back to bed. I'll, um, I'll give it to you in the morning?"

Turning to move away from the girl's bed and out into the hall where she and her burning cheeks won't be seen proves impossible for Ostara has reached out to wrap her fingers tight around Cerys' wrist.

"You made me a present?" Ostara asks, looking more alert then she had just moments ago.

"Yes."

"Well then, let me see it." Her eyes are soft and her tone happy, Cerys doesn't even realize her fingers are trembling until she's pressed the mass of braided hemp cord and little stone beads her father had helped Cerys carve into the girl's waiting palm. A long silence stretches between them and Cerys begins to fear the worst before Ostara looks up at her with bright eyes and says, "I love it."

"Truly?"

"Of course... Cerys, it's lovely."

Lovely isn't a word Cerys would use to describe the bracelet she'd crafted but her heart sings with the praise. She blushes, glances down at her feet, and pushes back her hair before looking up to find Ostara tying the cord around her wrist. It's a bit big, she has to wrap it twice before it'll sit snugly against her skin but the dark haired girl doesn't seem to mind.

"Thank you." Ostara breathes once the bracelet is secured.

"It was nothing."

"I love it so much, Cerys."

And nothing in her tone tells her that Ostara is lying. Happiness bubbles up to replace the dread and guilt and worry that had eaten at her since leaving the room she shares with her parents and little brother.

"Happy name's day, Ostara." Cerys says after a moment and is rewarded with another, bigger smile that causes Ostara's eyes to scrunch up. It's the sweetest smile Cerys has ever seen the younger girl give anyone and knowing that she is the one who put it there makes Cerys smile as well.

~X~

Seven years old. She's turning seven years old and Ostara isn't sure what to feel. It is supposed to be a good day, a day for celebrating, and Ostara _is_ happy that she is celebrating with her family but... Birthdays are hard for Ostara.

Her parents don't seem to notice. They release her and Stannis from their lessons and take them beyond the walls of Storm's End to visit the Lord of House Fell with whom her father has business to discuss. Ostara doesn't understand why her father is taking her and Stannis but she supposes it would be nice to leave Storm's End. Thankfully her father and mother don't deny her request to bring Rubeus with her.

So she sits in the wheelhouse and strokes the top of her beloved familiar's head as they amble down the King's Road to Felwood Keep. It's not a terribly long trip but it would go far quicker if they weren't always stopping but eventually the wheelhouse rolls into the courtyard and Cassana ushers her two children out into the mid-morning light to greet their hosts.

Lord and Lady Fell wait for them at the far end of the courtyard, smiling politely at them as their little party unloads from the wheelhouse to approach them. Steffon smiles and kisses Lady Fell's hand before moving to speak with Lord Fell, the two of them disappear after Lord Fell has been introduced to both of Steffon's children and said his customary greetings to Lady Cassana.

Soon after the Lady of Felwood shows them to the chambers they will be occupying during their say.

Ostara and Stannis have been given separate chambers connected by a small solar where they might take their meals or spend their off time together. It's incredibly sweet of the older woman to arrange such a thing for the two children. Ostara makes sure to thank her for her efforts before directing one of the servants to place her trunk against the wall.

"Such sweet children, Lady Baratheon." Lady Fell says when she overhears Ostara thanking her servants. "You're truly very lucky."

She doesn't hear her mother's reply, she doesn't want to hear her mother's reply. The politics of this world are similar enough to pureblood wizard politics that ostara doesn't need to pay so much attention to them that she's forced to listen to her mother and some woman make polite small talk. Instead she slips off with Rubeus to find Stannis and the three of them go to explore the grounds while their parents go about their business.

~X~

"Ostara, look at this!" Stannis calls, his voice ripping through the odd silence of the Kingswood.

Wiping her hands on the front of her play clothes Ostara makes her way over to where Stannis is crouching before the gnarled roots of an oak tree. Ostara kneels beside him, pressing close so that the two of them can stare into the small spaces hidden between the oddly growing roots and the ground. There's a family of hedgehogs curled in the shade.

"Hedgehogs."

"What?"

"That's what they are," Ostara whispers so as not to wake the sleeping family. "They mostly come out during the night and they eat bugs or frogs or snakes... Fruits too, and mushrooms, and carrion."

"Oh."

"How did you find them?"

Her brother looks rather proud of himself as he says, "I was following tracks."

Ostara highly doubts that the tracks he was following came from a hedgehog or two but she's never been very good at following such things, Stannis and Robert had both tried to teach her but Ostara hadn't been able to pick up on the fine art of hunting. Which is perfectly fine with her. Let Stannis do the hunting and the tracking, he's surprisingly good at both, Ostara just doubts the trail he'd been following came from a hedgehog.

Maybe whatever predator had been trying to eat them... But she could be wrong. She probably _is_ wrong. What does she know about hunting and tracking?

It's impressive either way.

"You've an incredibly good eye on you then, Stannis." She says, and her reward is a bright smile full of pearly white teeth.

She'd have been mildly jealous of all the Baratheon children's teeth in her past life. All ridiculously straight and white. Her father's teeth are slightly crooked, not terribly so but enough that it had been one of the first things Ostara had noticed. Cassana's teeth on the other hand? That's where her children get their good genetics apparently. Because Cassana's teeth are pearly white and straight as well, almost impossibly.

Personally, Ostara thinks Stannis has the nicest smile of the lot. Probably because he offers genuine smiles so rarely where Robert offers them like candies to strangers. Stannis' smiles are softer, less polished, and reveal the barest hint of a dimple in his left cheek.

Every hair on the back of Ostara's neck stands on end, forcing her to go still and rigid beside Stannis who rambles on happily about showing their father the hedgehogs he's found. Ostara gives him half an ear, less really, most of her attention is on trying to figure out what's in the forest near them and where Rubeus is. He'd been with them when they'd slipped away from Felwood Keep and into the southern portion of the Kingswood.

"Stannis." She whispers, soft and low but smiling in the case that whoever's in the forest with them can see her face. "Stannis you need to listen to me."

"What's wrong?"

"There's something watching us. I need you to act like nothing's the matter but we need to go." She whispers, fingers drifting to the the pockets she'd spelled into all of her dresses so that she could store her wand more conveniently.

"Where's Rubeus?" Stannis asks.

"I don't know... But it's not him so we need to go. Now."

Stannis nods once, makes a show about saying how he wants to show their father the hedgehogs, and helps Ostara to her feet. But when they turn around theirs a grubby looking man in torn clothes staring at them and smiling with a mouth full of crooked teeth. Without thinking Ostara curls her fingers around her wand and watches, terrified, as more men bleed out of the trees.

 _Bandits_.

"Hello there, lovely day." The man with the white but crooked teeth says.

"Leave us be." Stannis snaps, stepping between him and Ostara and she pulls her wand from her pocket when his back covers her movement.

"I'm afraid I can't do that son."

"You can, you will. I am Stannis Baratheon and you will leave. Now."

"Here that lads, he's a Stag," the man chortles and Ostara takes his distraction as an oppertunity to fire a stupify at the man.

Everyone watches as his body drops like a puppet cut from its strings and silence reigns down upon them for but a moment before the men roar and dart forward.

Ostara grabs hold of Stannis' hand and pulls him deeper into the forest as fast as her legs can carry her. Going back to Felwood is not an option, a great many of the bandits who'd come to rob them, and likely leave them dead for her parents to find, block the way and Ostara's not equipped to deal with such a large group of men and keep an eye on Stannis.

So she runs.

Deeper and deeper into the forest, only stopping when her foot catches in a hole and pitches her forward into the mud. Stannis drops down beside her, grasping at her arms and her hands in an attempt to pull her up, but by the time he's helped her to her feet they're surrounded and he's being dragged off of her and he's screaming at them to let her go and at Ostara to run but she can't do much of anything to help him because one man's trying to get his hands around her neck and Ostara's only just managed to fend him off enough that she can jab her want into his ribs long enough for her to throw him off.

Before his body even hits the ground she's rolling to send a stupify at the men holding Stannis.

She only gets one spell out before a man's heel comes down on the side of her face.

They, because it's two now instead of just the one, roll her over and bind her ankles and wrists with heavy rope. Her wand is lost in the mud but one of the men grabs it once he thinks she's bound up tight. Ostara watches the man say something but the ringing in her ears makes it impossible for her to hear what he's just said. Her head hurts something fierce but she doesn't think he kicked her hard enough to do any serious damage.

So instead of worrying about it the young witch focuses on trying to find something to cut her ropes with as she's unable to focus her mind enough to attempt a wandless severing charm. She sees a rock not far away on the ground but she'd need to roll or crawl to it, so she looks to see if anyone's watching her. They aren't.

They're too busy threatening Stannis.

Ostara groans as she forces herself up onto her knees, the new position causes the world to spin dangerously but Ostara sucks in a deep breath before closing her eyes and focusing on her magic.

It pools in her belly, not as powerful as she's used to but growing with her body, and Ostara calls for it. All of it. Every last bit of magic she's got in her until it's filling the air with the smell of burnt ozone and causing every last one of the bandits to look over at her. One of the men swallows thickly and begins muttering about witches, her wand rolls from the limp fingers of another, Ostara doesn't care.

Breath escapes her in a steady exhale and so too does her magic, ripping through the air and sending the men flying into trees and up into the air. They all come down in a series of crunches and snaps and Ostara notes that most don't utter a sound after they've hit the ground. Instead there's silence peppered with pained moans and curses.

Ostara's body crumples just as something sleek and silver bursts from the trees with a mighty yowl. And then there's so much screaming and the ominous resulting crunch of bones breaking beneath the pressure of Rubeus' jaw. Ostara turns her head so that she doesn't suffocate in the mud and, unfortunately, looses consciousness.

~X~

When she wakes up Stannis is gone but she's been dragged away from the blood and mess Rubeus has made. Her arms and legs have been cut free, her wand is in her pocket, and Rubeus has spread one leg and his head across Ostara's body. The young witch groans loudly when she notices that her familiar is munching happily on what appears to be the remains of an upper arm.

"You're so gross." Ostara mutters, shoving the shadowcat off so she can rise to her feet and survey her surroundings.

Stannis must have gone to get help. From the looks of it he'd tried to drag her out of the clearing but with her dead weight and his shaken nerves Ostara isn't necessarily surprised that he'd been unable to do so.

It's probably a good thing Stannis went to get their father... Rubeus made quite a mess of the bandits that attacked them for which Ostara is eternally grateful seeing as no one will know that most of the men were killed by a seven year old girl instead of a ferocious apex predator hell-bent on protecting his witch. But even with all of the blood someone's going to have to come out and report what happened to the King.

Especially if there are more bandits in the Kingswood.

 _You did well._

Ostara crosses her arms, pointedly ignores the lukewarm blood seeping into her front where Rubeus had decided to use her as a dinner table, and stares at the being hovering in the shadows of a spruce tree.

"You did well, he says as if I haven't just killed several men."

 _Better them then you._

"As much as I agree with that," Ostara replies stonily, "it doesn't make me feel any better."

Shadowy robes flutter as the being tilts its head to the side, seeming all too confused by Ostara's statement. Whatever. He wouldn't get it anyway. Not when his entire purpose is to create death and claim souls and meddle in other people's lives where he doesn't have any right meddling in the first place. Ostara sucks in a breath.

"Why are you here?"

 _I've a gift for you_.

"Oh? Where is it then?"

 _Later_ , Phil turns to point in the general direction of Felwood, _they are coming_.

Ostara isn't even upset to see him gone... Well, maybe a little upset. She's grown surprisingly comfortable with Death's presence and it's unfortunate but inevitable all things considered.

With a huff the seven year old turns and makes her way over to Rubeus who's stuck his face into the torn open stomach of one of the bandits in an attempt to get at one of his organs. It's disgusting. Ostara pulls him off and attempts to wipe his face down with her skirts. Using magic right now isn't a good idea. The stunt she pulled earlier has drained a good portion of her core.

What she really needs right now is a bath and a nice bed to sleep in.

"Ostara!"

Her father's voice startles her and causes her to jerk away from Rubeus, who turns back to his task of rooting through the man's stomach, but before she can turn to look at her father he's scooping her up and pulling her against his chest, fingers carding through her hair as he murmurs about how happy he is to see that she's safe and how brave she'd been. Ostara isn't aware that she's crying until her father sets her down so he can wipe her tears away.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She manages to choke out around the lump forming in her throat.

Something in her father deflates.

He kisses her temple, the one not coated in bruises, and stands to speak with some of the guards who'd come with him into the Kingswood. While he's distracted Ostara looks for Stannis and finds him hovering near the back of the clearing. In a matter of seconds Ostara has made it across the clearing and to her brother where she pulls the older boy into a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry." She whispers against his shoulder which causes his grip to tighten around her ribs.

The shaking of Stannis' body tells her that he's crying too and so Ostara just pulls him closer and stifles her own sobs against his neck.

~X~

Ostara is seven the first time she kills a man.

Felwood fades into the horizon and Ostara watches it go with a great deal of conflict.

Killing those men isn't what's bothering her. It's the fact that she'd killed them and hadn't regretted it, hadn't wondered if they'd had wives or children, that she'd cried but not for those men. They would have killed her and Stannis, of course, so Ostara can't really be upset for killing them but she'd expected to feel _something_. Anything.

All she feels now is numbness.

At this point she'd love to feel the worry her parents must be feeling for her and Stannis.

Stannis because he's refused to talk to anyone about what exactly happened, save Ostara who went through that dreadful experience with him and doesn't actually have to talk to him about it to understand, and Ostara because she hasn't spilled a single tear since her father found her in the clearing, because she's been acting like what happened isn't something a normal child would consider traumatizing. But she's had so many traumatizing things happen to her throughout her past live that at this point it's going to take more then a couple of bandits to truly terrorize her.

It was horrible, yes, but Hermione and Renaehra and all of her lives before them have faced so much worse then a handful of bandits squatting in the forest.

Ostara sighs, presses her forehead against the wall, and closes her eyes.

King Aerys sent a raven soon after the attack demanding that Steffon and his family come to King's Landing to discuss what happened with him. Her father had outright refused to take either his wife or his children to the capital as he hadn't wanted anything happening to them should there be more bandits in the Kingswood. Shockingly, or perhaps no so shockingly, King Aerys had relented and Steffon sent his family back to Storm's End.

She still hasn't opened the letters Queen Rhaella and Rhaegar sent her. She'll have to, of course, it would be rude not to send them a letter in reply thanking them for their concern and assuring them both that she's quite fine. But the letters are safe enough in her trunk and her mother hasn't pushed her to open them, which probably means she's already received a letter from the Queen and has replied in turn.

Either way, she'll deal with it when she gets to Storm's End.


	7. In The Land of Ash and Ruin

In the weeks following the incident at Felwood Ostara has begun a sort of correspondence with Prince Rhaegar. It hadn't been a conscious choice necessarily but she hadn't actively worked to stop it either.

His first letter had been more polite then anything. Rhaegar had called her Lady Ostara, which had made her snicker, and he'd asked after her health. There'd been nothing to give Ostara the impression that he'd want to continue writing to her or that he'd want to hear anything personal from her, so she'd written him back with all the expected titles and formalities and had told him that Maester Cressen had said she'd be perfectly well after a few days rest.

Three days later another letter arrived informing her that Rhaegar was pleased to hear that she hadn't been harmed. The prince had asked what she'd been doing to keep herself busy, likely having heard from his mother that Ostara had not actually listened to Maester Cressen and could be found wandering the Keep at odd hours. Ostara told him that she had enough books to read that it helped keep her mind occupied for the time being.

After that more and more letters were sent back and forth between them.

If pressed, Ostara might have said that she and Rhaegar were... Friends? Perhaps acquaintances would be the best word to describe their relationship. Because they never really spoke of personal matters but they'd discuss things that interest them and what books they liked reading most and why.

Ostara never, ever mentions her magic. Nor does she mention the small trunk of seeds and materials Phil had left for her. She doesn't think it would be a good idea to mention it to Rhaegar at the moment. Neither of them are particularly close to the other and Ostara would never write such a thing on paper even if they were. So she doesn't mention it to him.

With a sigh Ostara finishes her letter and places it off to the side so the ink can dry. She'd usually have done it with magic but right now her magical core is still so depleted that she's decided that mundane tasks will not be performed with magic. Of course, she still uses her magic so as to help her core replenish but nothing overly taxing and not as often as she'd like.

A knock on her door pulls Ostara's attention away from the letter and to her mother who has stepped into the room with a yellow monstrosity draped over her arm, Alise hovering int he space behind her. Ostara raises an eyebrow as her mother drapes the cloth across her bed.

"Come try it on." Her mother commands and Ostara pushes away from her writing desk to do as she asks.

Up close the dress isn't as awful as Ostara would have expected but it's not as lovely as some of her gowns either. Sunshine yellow with black antlers embroidered into the bodice. It's another play dress, thank the Gods, but it's still of better quality then most of her play clothes usually are. Which is suspicious.

"Does it fit nicely?" Alise asks once Ostara's pulled the dress over her head, already kneeling to begin pinning and measuring.

"The sleeves are a bit tight." She says in reply and the seamstress hums thoughtfully.

"You're outgrowing so many of your dresses I'm having new ones made. You'll grow into them." Cassana remarks from where she's perched herself upon Ostara's desk chair.

Ostara nods, "May I keep some of my other gowns?"

"Until you've outgrown them entirely, yes."

"Have you already been given an order, Alise?"

The older woman glances up, brown eyes warm, and shakes her head as she says, "Not quite yet, Lady Ostara, your mother wanted to discuss fabrics and such with you first."

Ostara turns to her mother. "May I have more play clothes? Preferably breeches and tunics?"

"Why?"

"Because it would be much easier to run and play in breeches and tunics then dresses. If you'd prefer I can make them myself." She says.

The thought obviously doesn't please her mother because she purses her lips and says, "I'll not have you running around in poorly constructed clothing, Ostara. You've yet to learn how to mend a tunic properly and you're asking to make your own clothes? Alise, please have two sets of breeches made and a few tunics as well. If Ostara's so determined to act like a boy I'd have her looking, at the very least, presentable."

"Of course, Lady Baratheon."

Ostara holds her arms out and allows the older woman to take her measurements. She allows her mother to dictate which fabrics she'll wear and which colors, all of them a bit brighter then Ostara might have chosen but lovely all the same, and when talk of jewels get brought up Ostara doesn't even try to dissuade her mother from looking into hair ornaments.

Why? Because her mother has just ordered her trousers and shirts. Clothes she'll be able to get dirty, clothes she'll be able to make potions in without having to worry about sleeves or skirts getting in her way. Her mother didn't have to do that and so Ostara will gladly wear whatever her mother tosses at her if it means she'll be able to get more trousers and shirts in the future after she's outgrown this pair.

By the time Alise has finished taking her measurements Ostara is near to bouncing with her excitement and once the seamstress leaves with promises to start making Ostara's new gowns as soon as possible the young witch flings herself at her mother, hugging her a bit tighter then typical but too happy to care.

"Thank you!" She cries and Cassana laughs as she strokes back her hair.

~X~

 _Ostara_.

The girl in question snaps her book shut and turns to look at the being standing by her bed. She raises an eyebrow but doesn't say anything as he moves to hover over her.

 _Ostara, come_.

"Where are we going this time?" She asks, already placing her book aside and standing.

 _You will see_.

She changes into one of her older play dresses, a dark blue thing that hides stains relatively well. Phil waits for her to dress before taking hold of her wrist and pulling her into the darkness only to deposit her moments later in a room covered in dust and spiderwebs. Ostara coughs as she pushes off of the ground and moves to stand near the only window that isn't completely destroyed.

What she sees elicits a strange response.

Miles upon miles of ash coated land meets her gaze, the remnants of building peaking up through the layers of destruction. The land is no longer lush and green, there are no more people in the streets or dragons in the sky, and the city does not glow. Ash and dirt and a red sky is all that remains of the Valyrian legacy. It's incredibly sad.

"Why have you brought me here?" Ostara asks, not looking back at the being lingering in the corner.

 _So that you would remember._

"Remember Renaehra? I remember her."

 _No, you do not._

Ostara turns to look at him after a long moment and crosses her arms over her chest. Phil merely gestures for her to look about the room, for her to explore, and she does. Walking around and wiping down bits of furniture and one of the large tables in the center of the room, careful not to step on too many of the dried plants littering the ground. She's rummaging through a cabinet in the back of the room when she realizes that this room was a work room.

Someone made potions here.

The work table is made of granite, there's a cauldron tipped over in the far corner, tools are spread in a line across a shelf, and all of the plants on the ground are vaguely familiar to Ostara.

"What is this place?"

 _Your home, once_ , Phil says as he pushes open a heavy stone door, _lifetimes ago_.

Ostara follows him down a flight of stone steps, only stopping to cast a bubble-head charm around her face, and the further down they go the more Ostara sees. Bodies are spilled across the floor, slaves and dragon lords alike, one portion of the ceiling is caved in where a dragon had been killed in the sky and plummeted into the Vaelmaereon's home.

Phil ignores them all, the children and the slaves and the beasts whose bodies are nothing but bones peaking out of ash and dust. He ignores them but Ostara cannot. Because the skeleton with the dragon rings and the dragon hide armor is Malaevor Vaelmaereon, and the littler skeleton with the petrified dragon egg curled in it's grasp is Baenna. She can picture their faces so clearly and it hurts her to see them this way now.

But their bodies slip from her line of sight as Phil leads her up another flight of stairs and to a room that might have been a bedchamber once.

Without much thought Ostara moves further into the room. There's a dressing table full of jewels in one corner and a grand bed in the other, the wardrobe is full of the remains of silk and satin gowns, and the trunk at the foot of her bed is full of armor. There's a sword resting on top of the pile and Ostara grabs hold of it without thinking, the familiar weight of it bringing forth years of muscle memory not her own.

 _It's time to go_ , Phil says and Ostara turns to look at him.

"What if I don't want to leave yet?"

 _You will come back in time_ , he promises and his hand raises toward her as he speaks, _but first you must learn_.

Ostara nods and places the sword, _her_ sword, back into the chest which she closes with a kind of reverence she would have thought impossible. Then she returns to Phil's side and allows him to take her back to Storm's End, all the while wondering why he would bring her to this place.

~X~

She wakes in bed, the remnants of a man's laughter and a woman's playful taunting lingering even as she rubs the sleep from her eyes. Ostara twists to look at Rubeus, shocked to find him not occupying his usual place at Ostara's feet. When she throws her covers back to search for him she finds out why.

The sword, Renaehra's sword, had been placed at her feet sometime in the night alongside a roll of parchment that tells Ostara, when she opens it, that her plants have been taken care of and by the time she returns to the Vaelmaereon Keep they'll be grown enough for her to use in her potions. Ostara crumples the parchment and burns it before turning back to her sword.

Is this what Phil meant when he'd claimed she needed to learn? Surely it must be. Why else would he bring her the sword?

Ostara bites her lip as she drags it from her bed.

She'd always heard that Valyrian steel made the best swords. Lighter and stronger and sharper then even the finest castle-forged steel. The Targaryens have a few still in the Red Keep but nothing so amazing as this. Renaehra hadn't bothered with golden pommels inlaid with jewels, she'd been above that apparently, but the actual blade has a dragon carved into it.

 _Vagos_.

He'd been Renaehra's bonded dragon and he'd died during the Doom.

Ostara bites her lip before rushing to pull the trunk from beneath her bed so that she can store her sword safely without anyone finding it. Then she changes into a simple dress and rushes from the room. Her father always goes to his study before breaking his fast and it's almost time for the morning meal. If she hurries she can still catch him.

So she runs faster, ignoring the startled cries and shrieks of servants as she rushes passed them.

When she reaches her father's study Ostara bangs once on the door before bursting in to find her father halfway out of his seat.

"Father," She says and his eyes widen, "I need you to teach me to wield a sword."

Her father blinks once, twice, three times before shaking his head and saying, "Ostara, you cannot learn the sword."

"And why not?" Ostara demands.

"Because I said so."

"You let Robert and Stannis learn how to fight."

"Stannis and Robert will be men one day."

"But I'll be a woman and wouldn't it be best if I could defend myself against, say, bandits."

Steffon leans back in his chair, lips pursed, and stares at her. Ostara thinks he wants her to back down first, which is silly because Ostara's never been one to crack first. So instead of taking back her request Ostara walks over to her father and takes his hands in her own.

"Please father? I've never wanted anything so much as I wanted Rubeus but I want this so badly."

"I will consider it."

"Truly?"

"Aye, now off with you. It's time to break our fasts."

Ostara bounces up to press a firm kiss to her father's cheek before darting toward the door where she throws a delighted, "Thank you!" at the man sitting behind the great mahogany writing desk.

~X~

"Ostara," her father says three weeks later when Ostara is making her way from the library to her own chambers, "might I have a word?"

The girl looks up from the old tome she'd found in a dusty corner of the library ignored by many. It's some sort of Maester's book. Medicines and herbs and types of wounds spread across the pages for Ostara to study. Maester Cressen may be a sweet, indulgent man but he's never truly let her take any of his medical books. They're certainly not as interest or detailed as the Medical Journals and books Hermione would read whenever she found herself unbelievably bored but they're informative enough.

She thinks that if she had time to study the plants and herbs used for healing in this world she might be able to come up with something a bit more useful then some of the pastes and ointments used by Maesters in this world.

"Of course, Father."

Steffon presses his hand to the space between her shoulder blades to guide her down the long corridor to his study. It's the most secure place in the Keep considering no one in their right mind would try to barge into the room or press their ear against the door in an attempt to hear what was being said.

Ostara moves to stand by the desk as her father takes a seat.

"I've considered your request and if it means so much to you I will find you a sword master," Her father says at last. "However, this must remain a secret between me, your instructor, and yourself. No one else may know."

"Not even Stannis?"

The sigh that leaves her father sounds incredibly put out.

"You may tell Stannis, you'll tell him either way, and your mother has already been informed. I meant that you may not tell Cerys or any of the other servants, nor may you say anything to the Prince in your letters."

"Of course I won't tell anyone but Stannis."

"Not even Robert?"

"Not even Robert."

Her father nods once before clasping his hands together and leaving them on the desktop.

"Stannis outgrew his old training leathers recently. I'd considered giving them to one of the younger lads training here but then I thought that they should fit you well enough."

"Thank you, father."

The older man smiles, reaches out, and ruffles her curls. He laughs heartily when Ostara smacks his hand away form her head before sending her back on her way with the knowledge that by next week she'll be meeting her new sword master. She can't wait to meet him, or her, because they'll teach her to wield a sword. It's unlikely her father would hire anyone who wasn't at the very least competent with a blade, so Ostara doesn't have to worry about the quality of her education.

Ostara pushes the door leading to her room open, steps in, and closes the door behind her. She smiles at Rubeus as she places her new book on the small writing desk before turning to the chest sitting innocently near her door. Stannis' old leathers are in there, surely, and Ostara is quick to prop the lid open to get at the training gear which consists of a vest and a pair of worn boots.

Anyone else might have been offended at the thought of having hand-me-downs, especially noble born girl who'd never had a single thing second hand in their life, but Ostara's thankful for it. Stannis' old leathers are soft and well worn, they won't pinch beneath her arms or leave her with blisters on her feet thanks to him having used them so often.

Eventually she'll outgrow them but until then they'll suit her needs perfectly.

But just to be sure Ostara tries the vest and boots on and goes to look at herself in the mirror handing above her dressing table.

"Why are you wearing my old leathers?"

"Why are you in my room without my permission?"

Stannis frowns at her as he makes his way to the writing desk where he takes a seat. Ostara offers him a smile before moving to wrap him in a hug.

"Father has agreed to find me a sword master."

"Why?"

"Because apparently girls don't fight and if I'm to learn the sword it must be in secret."

The face Stannis makes is terribly amusing but he doesn't comment on it. Instead he tosses a letter and a small parcel onto Ostara's writing desk and says, "The Prince wrote you another letter."

"How do you know it's the prince who's wrote me? It could be from any of my friends."

"You have all of three friends, Ostara," Stannis comments blandly. "Myself, Cerys, and apparently the Prince. Who else would have written you if not the prince?"

"I have friends."

"Who?"

"Alysanne Tarth."

Stannis blinks at her before shaking his head and making his way toward the door, "Tell the Prince I said hello when you write him."

Ostara glares at her brother's retreating back and only once he's gone does she snatch up the letter and begin reading whatever it is the Prince has decided to write her about.

 _Cousin Ostara_

None of his letters have never begun with such a word. Ostara has always been Lady Ostara in all of Rhaegar's letters to her. So it's a bit odd that he would call her such now. But she ignores it for the time being and continues reading.

 _I hope this letter finds you in good health._

 _In regards to your thoughts on Maester Munkun's writings, I find myself unable to see why you would dislike his work. There are some inaccuracies to be sure, but as a whole the book is not so terrible. But if you truly found his word so unbearable I have sent along a book of Valyrian history that I think you might enjoy._

 _Prince Rhaegar Targaryen_.

Ostara reads the letter over twice before tossing it onto the desk and reaching for the parcel. She pulls away the thin brown paper and finds herself staring at a book bound in rust colored leather. It's in impeccable condition and Ostara can't believe Rhaegar would risk such a valuable book's condition on a trip from King's Landing to Storm's End. It's odd, Ostara doesn't know what to think of it. But instead of obsessing over it Ostara sits down to write a reply to the prince.


	8. A Dance of Steel and Silk

"You," her sword master says the first time they meet in the godswood, "are late."

Ostara grits her teeth in an attempt to keep herself from snapping at the man about how, no, she is not late, but that would be disrespectful and Ostara wants this Dornish man to like her enough to enjoy teaching her. If he enjoys teaching her then he'll make sure she's actually doing her sets correctly instead of just having her flop through her lessons like a fish out of water.

"I apologize for my tardiness, it won't happen again."

"My name is Daevyn Sand, you may call me Master Daevyn... Or just Daevyn."

Ostara doesn't remark on his last name. Doesn't comment on him being a bastard. Because it would be impolite, incredibly rude, of her to do so and also because Ostara simply doesn't care about how he was born a bastard. It's not an uncommon thing, Ostara actually thinks the Dornish views on sex and marriage and women are far more progressive then the rest of Westeros.

She'd very much like to visit Dorne one day.

"My name is Ostara Baratheon, you may call me Ostara."

The man hums thoughtfully before moving to tap Ostara's arms and legs with the tip of a long wooden stick, then he takes her hands and moves them about, and finally he reaches out to untie the cord of leather keeping her braid secure.

"Never," he says lowly, "allow your enemy any advantages. You only make it easier for your opponents to grab you by the hair if you wear it like that."

"How else would I wear it?"

"Loose, preferably, but a bun atop your head would suffice if you wish for it to be kept up."

Ostara nods very slowly, debating the benefits of keeping her hair in a bun and carefully twists it into something appropriate atop her head which she ties off with the strip of leather. Her sword master watches her the entire time and when she's finished he tosses her a wooden practice sword which she catches after a moment of surprised fumbling.

Daevyn raises a thick eyebrow but says nothing in favor of moving to examine her grip on the pommel of the sword.

"Your father has paid me to teach you the sword," Daevyn remarks as he moves to kick her feet further apart. "And I shall do so as long as my rules are obeyed."

"Your rules?" Ostara asks, twisting to look at the man from over her shoulder.

"You will not disrespect me here nor will you question my methods, you are not a young Lady while in my company but a girl learning to fight and I shall teach you as I would teach any other boy or girl who might have come to me in Dorne."

Ostara nods but says nothing.

She knows all about respecting teachers and she remembers some of Renaehra's training injuries. It's likely she won't be coming out of these lessons unscathed but Maester Cressen will tend to her most faithfully if need be and Ostara's fairly good with healing spells. She's not worried. Besides, Daevyn Sand has kind eyes. They are not the eyes of a man who takes pleasure in hurting children. She takes a simple comfort in it.

Their first session together is simple enough. Daevyn Sand teaches her nothing but proper stances and how to grip a sword. It comes easily, this part, and he corrects her grip more times then he corrects her stance. Ostara has to remind herself that holding a sword is not like holding a wand, that these lessons will only get harder and no amount of muscle memory will be able to change that.

By the time Daevyn Sand has called their lesson to a close Ostara's hand is sore where the wood has rubbed her palms to a now quite raw state and the muscles in her thighs quiver as she walks back to her room where Rubeus is waiting with Stannis to hear all about her lessons with the Dornish man. It's a good pain though, and it's one that will fade in time.

~X~

 _Renaehra rotates her wrist, the blade in her hand flashing as it moves in a tight circle to the left of her body. Jacaegon watches the blade carefully, her baby brother is a smart boy but he is not so good with the sword. Not like Renaehra, not like their father. It is a weakness their father has sought to purge from her brother. Even if he cannot best their father, even if he cannot best his sister, he will be able to best his enemies._

 _Fingers tightening ever so slightly around the pommel of her sword Renaehra lunges at her brother, watching through narrowed eyes as the younger boy executes a sloppy roll to get away from her blade._

 _They do not fight with wooden practice swords like other Valyrian Lords might. Their father had forbidden it, had claimed that wood could not be used to teach a true warrior and so they had been given Valyrian blades of the finest make to use in their lessons. They fight until first blood as is the rule and Jacaegon has spent most of their lessons avoiding his sister's blade then anything else. He's trying to avoid scarring. Which is ridiculous in his sister's eyes as Renaehra herself has a number of scars from such lessons with their father._

 _Jacaegon, unfortunately, does not and he is vain enough to attempt to keep it that way._

 _He is a sweet boy, kind, soft. He is not the soldier his sister is nor is he a true Dragon Lord like their father. He does not like the sword, does not savor the ring of metal against metal, does not like to sweat. And so he shirks his lessons to read and play his instruments and entertain their sister and Renaehra respects that but he cannot go on ignoring the fact that he is their father's heir and as such it is his responsibility to know how to protect not only himself but his family._

 _With a roar quite a bit louder then her dragon Vagos' mewl of a roar Renaehra pivots on her heel and drives the tip of her sword through the edge of Jacaegon's tunic and down into the dirt. The silver haired boy attempts to pull away from the blade, his cloth ripping as the sharpened steel cuts into it, but Renaehra is already spinning to drive her foot into her little brother's nose._

 _The resulting crunch and gush of blood tells her that she'll have to heal him before they leave._

 _"Fuck, Ren," her brother grits out as Renaehra pulls her blade free of the dirt, allowing the boy to roll out of the pool of his own blood, "that hurt."_

 _"Stop whining and hold still."_

 _Jacaegon drops his hand and Renaehra places her own over his nose, not caring if her touch causes him pain. His blood is hot against her hand and Renaehra focuses on that as the cartilage in his nose slips and cracks and snaps back into place. She fixes the damage done to his nose but leaves the blood to stain his close and congeal in the whisper of a beard growing on his chin._

 _"Thank you, Ren, I always enjoy sparring with you."_

 _"This wasn't a sparring match, Jacaegon." Renaehra reminds him, the blood on her boot mixes with the dirt on the ground as she makes her way over to the bench where Vagos is waiting for her._

 _The little dragon mewls sweetly before yawning and climbing up Renaehra's offered arm to curl around her neck. He has only hatched a mere four months prior but when he is grown he will be the mightiest of their family's dragons. Renaehra can feel it._

 _"Khoren, to me!"_

 _Renaehra glances over at her brother, eyes flashing as she watches the pretty eyed slave make his way over to her brother. The collar around his neck is gold-plated and embedded with blue stones, a symbol that he is her brother's personal slave, and she knows that the skin beneath does not suffer from any discoloration for she'd placed it back upon his neck just this morning and she'd been able to slip two fingers comfortably between his skin and the metal._

 _"Have my tunic washed and repaired," her sweet, kind eyed brother is not so sweet and kind eyed now as he gazes upon the slave bowing before him as he pulls the tunic over his head to toss at the slave. "I expect it done by nightfall."_

 _"Yes, my Lord."_

 _The dark eyed man takes the tunic and folds it over his arm, the purple complimenting his skin quite nicely, and turns to leave. He hesitates for the briefest of seconds though to make eye contact with her so that he can offer her the barest hint of a smile before disappearing from the training grounds._

 _"I could have done it for you." Renaehra remarks as she makes her way toward the doors Khoren had just left through. The only doors leading to the training grounds._

 _"But why subjugate yourself to the work of a slave? You are a Vaelmaereon, not a common whelp."_

 _"You're such a fucking prick." Renaehra states blandly before leaving her brother to ponder her words in solitude while she goes off in search of her lover._

~X~

"Is he being too hard on you, Ostara?" Cressen asks as he observes the line of dark blue and purple that's spread across the back of her hand.

Ostara shakes her head and says, "Oh no. Master Daevyn is lovely."

Maester Cressen purses his lips but doesn't question her further.

It's been a month since Daevyn Sand came to them. A month since he'd started teaching her the sword and a number of other things that her father probably hadn't asked the Dornish man to teach her. Sword play and strategy and how best to escape someone if she ever finds herself without a weapon. She never brings her wands to these lessens lest it be broken or damaged somehow, but she thinks that it's a good lesson to learn even if she never intends to be without her beloved wand beyond the walls of Storm's End.

He teaches her a great many things and Ostara always comes out of her lessons with a new ache and a new bruise but it bothers her less and less each time. Bruises heal after all, sure, they'd heal much better if Ostara had access to bruise healing paste but they heal all the same. Maester Cressen and her father must understand this too because they never push her to tell them that Daevyn Sand is working her too hard.

 _Every pain is a lesson_.

Ostara pulls her hand away from the good Maester and smiles prettily as the man clucks at her.

"I do not like you coming to me in such a state, Ostara." The man tells her.

She only ever comes to him with bruises and slight sprains. Anything worse she deals with on her own. Not that Ostara would ever tell the man that. He doesn't need to know such things as it would only make him worry for her safety when there's nothing to worry about. The worse injury she's ever received by Daevyn Sand's own hand had come in the form of a broken wrist which had been a result of a well placed hit to the back with the wooden practice sword which had sent Ostara's sprawling across the ground.

She'd landing wrong on her hand and had played it off as nothing worse then a mild sprain. Fixing it had proved easy enough and thankfully Daevyn had told her that lessons would be put off for a few days to allow her the rest she would need to heal. She'd spent that time reading and playing with Rubeus and attempting some of the spells in her journals.

"I'm perfectly fine, Maester Cressen. I promise." Ostara glances at the pile of letters forming on her Maester's desk and frowns, "Is everything alright?"

The aging man follows her gaze and smiles kindly. "It is nothing for you to worry about, now, run along and play."

Ostara nods before slipping off of the chair she'd been directed to upon entering the Maester's room and says a quick goodbye before rushing out into the hall to find Rubeus waiting for her. The shadowcat snorts loudly as he rises to his feet to follow her down the corridor and Ostara laughs at the giant beast of a cat before rushing off in the direction of Stannis' room.

~X~

Along with her sword lessons Ostara has had to balance a great many other lessons as well. Her mother has taught her to play the high harp and while it's an interesting thing to learn it is not her favorite. She is not so musically inclined as her mother but while she forces herself to sit through her music lessons with a tight lipped grin Ostara finds her dancing lessons just as enjoyable as her lessons with Daevyn Sand.

Unfortunately for her Ostara only has so many boys of an age and status with her to practice with.

But Stannis is a good enough dancer, even if he scowls and steps on her toes and mutters under his breath about how ridiculous dancing is.

"Stand straight, Ostara, a lady never slouches."

"Yes mother."

Her brother smirks at her but it's a foolish move on his part for their mother notices it nearly as soon as his lip begins to curl.

"Stannis, don't make such faces at your sister." Their mother reprimands and Ostara allows her brother to guide her around in a wide circle before falling back into the steps of their dance.

In the background their mother is singing the song that goes to this dance and her hands clap out a beat for the two children to follow as they dance around the room. One of her mother's ladies is playing an instrument similar to a mandora. She plays it well and Ostara thinks that maybe she'll ask the woman to teach her sometime because the music is sweet and the sound of it carries through the room.

And by the time Ostara and Stannis are released from their lessons both are sweating and Ostara's foot hurts a bit from how often Stannis has stepped on her feet but it's quite alright. She kisses her brother's cheek after they've slipped out into the hall and tells him he did wonderfully before rushing off to find Daevyn Sand so that they can continue her lessons for the day.

~X~

"Do you have children, Master Daevyn?" Ostara asks as she wraps her hands in thin cloth as the Dornish man had instructed her to do.

"A son," Daevyn replies. "He is of an age with Robert."

"Do you speak with him often?"

The man casts her an amused glance and asks, "Why the sudden interest, little lamb?"

 _Yes, why?_

"You've been here a month is all and I feel I know nothing about you." Ostara offers in explanation.

"Perhaps it is better that way, hm?" Daevyn asks and his sharp eyes are warm like a summer sun as he kneels to fix Ostara's wrappings, "It wouldn't do for someone to find out more about the the Dornish bastard your fahter has paid to teach you the art of killing then absolutely necessary."

"But it's just us and I'll not tell a soul."

"Are you certain of that?" He asks.

Ostara pointedly ignores the being lingering in the shadows beyond the trees and doesn't ask about Daevyn Sand's son again.

~X~

A letter arrives from King's Landing three days later. It's from Rhaegar, he's written to inform her that he has lost another sibling, that his mother has given birth to a stillborn babe and that his father has confined her to Maegor's Holdfast. Rhaegar claims that he never sees his mother without company, whether it be members of the Kingsguard or two of the Septas the King has ordered to sleep in the Queen's bed every evening.

Ostara isn't sure how to respond to any of it but her blood boils for him and Rhaella all the same.

Logically, she's aware that the generations of incest have not been genetically kind to the Targaryens. Lower fertility rates and whatever poor dietary conditions Maester Pycelle has kept her under has likely played a large part in Rhaella's inability to produce healthy children. But for the King to be so suspicious of his wife that he'd put her under constant guard?

 _Gods above_.

Ostara pens a quick letter telling Rhaegar that she is incredibly sorry for his family's loss and that she hopes his mother's situation improves soon before signing the letter and drying the ink. She seals the letter and places it off to the side to be sent off with the rest of the letters accumulating in Maester Cressen's work room. All the while her stomach churns unpleasantly.

Without much thought she reaches out to card her fingers through Rubeus' thick fur and gnaws on her lip.

There are so many things she could say to Rhaegar, to the Queen, that might help her carry a child term and possibly keep it alive through infancy. But the likelihood of anyone believing her, listening to her, is slim seeing as she's yet to have a babe and most Maesters would claim her information is baseless or mere superstition. Which, is stupid because Ostara is a girl and knows more about childbirth already then most men will know in their lives and second she's read about medical books that she is educated enough to discuss them on an academic level.

"They're all a bunch of sexist pricks." She tells her familiar.

Rubeus stares at her through two big yellow eyes then promptly shakes his head and pads off to curl up at the foot of her bed.

"But you don't care apparently."

His only response is to roll over onto his back and bat playfully at the air with his paws. Ostara shakes her head and turns her attention to the other two letters left unread on her desk. One is from Alysanne Tarth and the other is from her brother. Alysanne talks about her father and mother and pleads for Ostara to come and visit her soon, Ostara writes back wishing both her parents well and tells the slightly younger girl that she'll attempt to speak with her parents about arranging a meeting.

Because she genuinely likes Alysanne Tarth and she needs more close friends.

After she's finished writing to her friend Ostara turns her attention to the letter Robert had written her and squares her shoulders as she breaks the seal.

And she reads, and all too quickly fondness turns to annoyance as she begins comprehending what Robert has written her about.

Apparently he's made a friend of Eddard Stark, Lord Rickard Stark's second son, and he's convinced that they will be the very best of friends for the rest of their days despite Eddard's quiet nature and his inability to do anything unseemly. Ostara thinks she'd be quite fond of Eddard Stark if they were to ever meet. And it's not Robert's joy at having the other boy for a friend that makes Ostara's skin crawl.

It's the fact that he hasn't once asked about Ostara or Stannis or their parents. All he talks about it Eddard and Job Arryn, and it's only toward the end of his letter that he wishes his little sister well and tells her to tell Stannis he says hello which means that he hadn't bothered to write their brother anything.

"Fucker." Ostara hisses as she curls her fingers around the parchment, muttering until the heat in her palm eats away the letter until their nothing but ash in the palm of her hand.

She does't respond to Robert's letter.

He probably doesn't even care.

~X~

"Have you received any more letters from the Prince?" Cerys asks one evening as Ostara weaves her friend's pretty blonde hair into one of the styles she'd seen the queen wear upon her first visit to King's Landing.

It's not an exact replica but it's something close and Cerys seems genuinely pleased by it.

"Not recently, no." Ostara watches as the other girl's shoulders slump.

"That's very sad."

"How so? He's surely very busy."

"You're friends aren't you? Why else would he write you letters? He must love you."

Ostara sputters and jerks away from the other girl, "I beg your pardon?"

Cerys has lovely eyes but they gleam a wicked sort of steel color as she twists to smile impishly at Ostara.

"Well, why else would he write to you? A girl five years his junior?"

"Because we're cousins? Because we have much in common? Because he can?" Ostara clears her throat, "Take your pick."

Cerys sighs dreamily, "I think he's in love with you."

"He's _barely_ ten years old, he probably doesn't even want anything to do with girls!"

Her friend shrugs and plays with one of the braids dangling around her ear. Ostara is vaguely jealous of Cerys' hair, so soft and smooth. It never tangled once as Ostara played with it and none of her hair combs had gotten lost in the other girl's golden hair. Ostara's hair is a beast, tangling and frizzing and growing with her magic. Hermione had had the same problem, thankfully Ostara thinks she might know a few ways to fix it without the products she'd had access to in her previous life.

"It would be so romantic wouldn't it? If you married the Prince?"

"I think," Ostara says as she flops back to lay across the width of her bed, "that you're listening to too many of your nana's stories."

The other girl's response is a firm whack to Ostara's hip. It doesn't hurt as it's more playful then anything but Ostara stops talking about Rhaegar and Cerys' obsession with romances like those from her stories. Instead Ostara tells her about the book she's read and allows the other girl to play with her hair even though the act itself creates more of a mess then anything.

Thankfully, Cerys stops talking about Rhaegar and love.

Thankfully, Ostara doesn't obsess over the conversation for longer then a few moments before her mind is pulled to other, more appropriate topics of conversation and interest.


	9. The Wrath and The Ruin

"They're getting stronger." Leaf tells the shadow man.

He came to them years and years and years ago, too many to count, and no one knows where he hails from or how he came to them in this form but he'd been so different from anything Leaf had ever seen before. Distant, cool, all knowing. Leaf could feel the power residing in him, her people could feel the power residing in him, and she'd found herself terrified by it.

But the shadow being had not harmed her nor had he harmed the others.

He'd merely looked down upon Leaf from under his hood of shadows that hid his face from her sight. He'd been searching for something specific, he'd nodded when he'd found it and he'd disappeared into nothingness in the time it had taken Leaf to blink. Some time later he'd returned, a shining ball of something brilliant in his palm.

Leaf isn't sure what he'd done with that ball of light but something tells her that whatever he did will benefit them when the Long Night comes. Something tells her that whatever he did will save them all from the darkness Leaf knows is coming.

 _Is that so?_

"The Greenseer says you are like me... Other." Leaf remarks, shying away slightly when the being shifts.

 _No_ , he sounds amused, _not like you._

"Then what?" Leaf demands, nails digging into her palms, "Who are you to stand against the darkness?"

The Greenseer had said that the shadow man was something else, other, not human. Never a human. Something other, something powerful, something like her but not quite. The Greenseer had been unable to tell the Children what, exactly, the shadow man is but what he had been able to tell them had inspired not only hope but a great deal of fear instead. The Greenseer had told them all that the shadow man that would wander between the trees and through the darkness was more powerful then even he. And the Greenseer _is_ power.

He, the shadow man, is far more dangerous then Leaf would have originally thought.

 _I am that which all things fear_ , the shadow man's voice is a whisper tangled in the wind, _and I have brought your savior back to you_.

"Our savior?"

 _Yes, a warrior._

Then the shadow man turns to stare out at the great expanse of white that makes up the land around them.

In the distance Leaf can just make out the wall. That great icy thing that was built to keep the White Shadows out of the land of men. The only good it has done thus far is keep the White Shadows at bay, for they would not dare to launch an attack when their numbers are so small that they can't ensure their victory. When they come to wipe all that is good and warm from the world the White Shadows will do so with a hoard large enough to frighten even the Old Gods.

"What," Leaf finds herself asking the shadow man, "will one warrior do against _them_?"

 _She is a being of magic_ , is the calm reply, _the spark that will light the match that will set the world ablaze_.

"Sometimes fire can be worse then ice." Leaf finds herself muttering.

Oh, little one, you know nothing.

Leaf wants to snarl at the man, wants to rake her claws down his body and shred his clothes and make him _bleed._ What does he know? Nothing, he knows nothing of the White Shadows and the great fire beasts that once lived in the sky. Leaf has lived for so many years and she barely remembers the world before man came and defiled the land and slaughtered the innocent.

So this shadow man has brought a warrior? A being of magic? What good will that do any of them? Humans are cruel, quick to anger and even quicker to point the finger. If one were to discover the child was different then them... Leaf doubts the child will live long enough in the world of men to do much of anything.

"No," she tells the shadow man, "it is you who knows nothing."

And the shadow man trails a bony finger down her cheek.

 _Shall we see?_

Then he's gone and Leaf is left to stand alone in the frigid twilight air.

~X~

Tywin Lannister has always been an ambitious man, has always tried to be better then those around him. A result of his own nature and his father's ineptitude. Ambitious though he may be he is not a fool nor is he his father. When Cersei had been born Tywin had seen his daughter's birth as an opportunity. The Queen had yet to give Aerys a daughter, a sister wife for his son, and Tywin doubted she would ever give her husband the female child he has sought after int he years following Rhaegar's birth.

So why not tie Cersei to the Iron Throne? Why not give her a princely husband and a crown? And she'd grown into such a pretty little girl with all of the refinements of her mother that Tywin hadn't seen any reason not to betroth his daughter to Rhaegar.

Tywin had been so sure that with his influence over the Seven Kingdoms and his long standing, if slightly shaky, friendship with the King would be enough to secure a betrothal agreement between the houses Lannister and Targaryen. He'd been wrong. So terribly wrong that the realization of his own failure had burned like acid in his gut. Eating away at his stomach and his throat and settling heavily on his tongue.

And now he stands, watching as King Aerys smiles at him like a child smiling at a court fool, raging with all of the indignation he can muster.

"You think," Aerys remarks, "that I would betroth my son and heir to your daughter? You've no dragon blood in you, Tywin."

Swallowing the anger Tywin says, "I do not mean to offend you, My King, I merely wish to ensure the continuation of the Targaryen line."

This time Aerys snorts, a very unkingly gesture that makes Tywin's rage return tenfold.

"You needn't worry about my line, Tywin," The King leans back in his chair and Tywin thinks of the boy he once was, so full of ambition and ideals and charm. "Rhaegar will marry a Targaryen."

"Your Grace, there are no female Targaryens save your Lady Wife." It's gritted out between his teeth and far too terse to be considered polite.

Tywin watches as Aerys' eyes burn with his glee and he wants to strike him.

"You do remember, don't you, that Steffon is my first cousin. His blood is my blood as is the blood of his children... Diluted though it may be Ostara Baratheon has dragon blood and she will make my son a fine queen."

 _Ostara Baratheon,_ he should have seen it coming. Should have known this would happen.

Steffon is, perhaps, his closest friend. The only friend that Tywin has ever had whom he did not suspect of trying to curry favor. It is not the thought of Steffon's daughter taking his own daughter's place as princess that has him raging. It is the fact that they'd discussed a betrothal themselves between Jamie and Ostara just weeks ago, nothing permanent but they'd discussed the possibility of it.

Now all those possible plans are slipping through his fingers like water and Tywin can do nothing to stop it. Not now, not when Aerys has already made his decision and will likely send a letter off to Storm's End the moment Tywin exits the room to ensure Steffon's compliance.

"Yes, your grace, I remember," Tywin says but the words taste bitter on his tongue. "Ostara Baratheon will make your son a good wife."

She would have made his own son a good wife. Smart and sharp as a whip with an understanding of things that most children fail to comprehend. Tywin had looked forward to tying his house to the Baratheons, he'd liked knowing that his son would marry the woman Ostara Baratheon would become under her parents' careful tutelage.

Now he has nothing but ruined plans and an image to salvage.

He bows to the king and says, "If your grace no longer requires anything of me I shall take my leave."

Aerys merely waves him off and Tywin is thankful for it. He must write to Joanna and Steffon immediately. Perhaps he can salvage his plans, perhaps he can create something beneficial out of this unfortunate series of events.

~X~

Cerys isn't sure how it happens.

She's reading from a book her Lady has lent to her, the leftover candle that she's been using for nearly a month is the only thing lighting the small space she's found herself occupying at times like this. The Keep is quiet, the servants asleep and the Lords and Ladies tucked away in their own beds as well. Cerys would normally read in her own room but her mother has grown large with child and she has so much trouble sleeping anyway that Cerys doesn't wish to disturb her more.

So she's found herself a little nook where she can read and remain out of the way of the other servants.

One moment she's reading from the book with the pretty blue cover and the next someone is ripping it from her hands and reaching up to tangle their fingers in her hair. The man rips her from her little nook and begins to drag her through the empty corridor.

He, Cerys doesn't know his name but he works in the kitchens, is screaming at her, cursing her, spitting at her. The pain and fear that rises up into her chest is enough to make her sob and plead but it does her no favors. It only seems to make the man angrier. He releases her, and for a moment Cerys thinks he's going to let her go but then the back of his hand is connecting with her cheek and the force of the hit causes Cerys' head to snap to the side.

"You stole it didn't you?" The man hisses, Ostara's book held aloft but out of reach, "You just couldn't settle with the maester's teachings so you stole the book instead!"

"No," Cerys whimpers, "it was a gift."

The man scoffs and raises his fist, all the while muttering about how her parents raised a liar and a thief. He means to hit her again, for a terrifying moment Cerys thinks he means to kill her, but a low angry rumble stills them both. Cerys turns her head to stare at the large shadowcat making its way down the corridor, its mistress- dressed in her nightclothes, hair a wild tangle around her head, and her eyes wild with her rage- walks calmly beside him.

Beside her, the man coughs.

"My La-" Ostara's hand rises, fingers curling into a loose fist and the man chokes on his breath, clawing at his throat like a man drowning.

"Are you alright, Cerys?" Ostara asks, voice colder and more sharp then Cerys has every had the displeasure of hearing it.

"Yes," she lies.

She doesn't tell Ostara that her cheek burns or that she's certain the man has pulled a good potion of her hair out by the roots.

Ostara nods once before she speaks, "Cerys take Rubeus back to my chambers. I'll be there in a moment."

Cerys isn't stupid enough not to do as she's been asked, so she scuttles over to the shadowcat on trembling legs and laces her fingers through his fur. Rubeus is warm and steady beside her, a shield between Cerys and the man who'd dragged her through the corridors. And when the shadowcat presses against her body Cerys turns and begins moving down the corridor in the direction of Ostara's personal chambers.

~X~

When Ostara returns to her chambers, carrying her book and without a scratch on her, Cerys finds herself unable to do anything but cry. Great hiccuping sob that has Ostara making her way across the room to pull her into a hug where she rubs Cerys' shoulders and smooths back her hair.

"He won't bother you again." Ostara promises which only makes Cerys cry harder.

"What did you do, Ostara?" Cerys asks once she's managed to suck in a breath.

Ostara goes still for a moment before shaking her head a bit and saying, "I told my father what he'd done to you... Father is sending him away."

There's more to it then that. Lords don't just send their servants away when they strike another servant's child. Cerys has seen husbands smack their wives, has seen brothers spit hurtful words at their sisters, and the Lords of Great keeps do nothing so long as the disturbances among the servants don't disrupt their daily lives. But Lord Baratheon has been so kind to them, the other children like Cerys, allowing them to learn their letters and play with his daughter.

Cerys buries her face in Ostara's curls and tries not to snot all over her.

"Do you want to stay here tonight?" Ostara asks, causing Cerys to flinch away.

She's never spent the evening in Ostara's bed before, even when her friend has offered Cerys always returns to the room she shares with brothers or sometimes her mother when she grows ill and needs Cerys' care. She's never spent the night in Ostara's bed but the thought of walking back to the servant's quarters doesn't soothe her frazzled nerves.

So she nods hesitantly and doesn't fight when Ostara guides her to the bed.

Once she's settled Ostara blows out the candle and pulls the heavy covers up to their chins before moving to wrap an arm around Cerys' shoulders. It makes her feel safe, knowing that Ostara and Rubeus are there with here. The fact that nothing can hurt her here while she's curled between Ostara and the great shadowcat soothes the rest of her frazzled nerves and allows Cerys to slip off into fitful sleep.

~X~

Steffon Baratheon stares at the servant lying silent in his cell. Tomorrow when the servants come it will look like an illness took him in his sleep, like he'd simple stopped breathing and went to the Stranger, it will not look like poison, it will not look like an assassination. The empty vial in his pocket is not a heavy weight as it might have been before, nor does Steffon harbor any true remorse. The man was a worm, scum of the earth, not worthy of the life he'd been given.

Any man, in Steffon's fine opinion, that raised their fists against children and women deserve a worse fate then that they're usually given.

Typically, Steffon would have sent a man such as the one before him North to the Wall where he would be subject to the wind and the bitter cold and Wildlings. Hopefully he would have died there, whether Beyond the Wall or trying to escape it Steffon wouldn't have cared. But unfortunately the Lord of Strom's End couldn't take such a risk with this man.

Sending him North would have meant giving him too many opportunities to speak of what Ostara did to him, of what Ostara could do. His sweet summer daughter, had not been kind and sweet to the man who'd struck her friend, not that Steffon could blame her for it. When she'd brought him to Steffon's door hours earlier he'd been whimpering and curled into himself, flinching whenever Ostara spoke or moved a certain way, and Steffon understands her rage and yearning for justice but he cannot let the man live now.

And so he'd taken the vial Maester Cressen had offered and forced the prisoner to drink every last bit of it.

Drastic measures must be taken to ensure the safety of one's family, after all.

Perhaps it is silly of him, to kill this man the way he has, but Steffon cannot ensure his silence and he will not ask Ostara too. It is not her responsibility to clean up this mess. It's his. He is the one that allowed the man to remain in his home, the one that allowed the servant children to learn to read and write so that they might make better lives for themselves latter on in life. Steffon does not regret that, he does not mind the children of his servants learning beside his own children, but just because he had no qualms with it doesn't mean others hadn't.

And the evidence of that is spread across the flood of the cell, hidden in flickering shadow.

"A shame, don't you think, that the man did not have a trial... Though, I suppose that Cerys will find some form of justice in this."

"I'm sure Ostara will tell her I've poisoned the man." Steffon tells Cressen, not at all surprised that the man found him here.

"Do you think she'll find out?" Cressen asks, voice calm and soft in the darkness.

Steffon turns away from the dead man in the cell and faces his Maester with a stony face and a raised eyebrow.

"Do you honestly think she won't?" He demands.

Becuase Ostara is too smart, too aware, too sharp-eyed not to notice and Steffon hopes that his daughter understands why he does it. Why he has killed this man.

 _It is a mercy,_ he thinks, _for the man to die like this._

At least this way he is being punished for his crimes against a little girl who would never hurt a fly, his death was not fast after all, while also fulfilling the purpose of keeping his silent about Ostara' gifts. His little Doe may be powerful but she is still his daughter, she is still his to protect. Even if she doesn't truly need that protection, even if the Dornish bastard is teaching her the sword, even if she's got that blasted shadowcat to keep her company.

Despite it all Ostara is his family and Steffon will shield her from the closed-mindedness of noble and smallfolk alike for as long as he is able. For as long as she is young and till learning to be whatever it is she means to be. He might not like it, he might not want it, but Steffon can appreciate his daughter's strength of will and her stubbornness.

With a sigh Steffon rolls his shoulders and begins making his way from the dungeons. He doesn't wait for the good Maester to follow, because he is a man grown and oddly protective of Steffon's children, it is likely he will stay with the body a while longer. To ensure there are no signs of poisoning or struggle. He does pause, however, to ensure that the stairwell is perfectly lit to ensure the Maester does not slip or stumble before heading off toward the chambers where Cassana is likely awaiting him.


	10. A Touch of Magic

"My Lord, might I have a word?"

Steffon looks away from the papers spread across his writing desk, away from the reports and letters written to him by other Lords of the Stormlands, and levels Maester Cressen with a hard look.

There is a letter in the man's hand, the crimson seal of the Targaryen House bright against the creamy parchment. The seal is broken. It's unlike Cressen to read letters or missives sent specifically for anyone in the Baratheon family, but he's had so many letters from the Citadel and other Maester's laterly that it's possible that his opening of the letter had been a slip of the hand and nothing more.

Either way, the aging man appear incredibly nervous.

"Close the door behind you." Steffon demands, already leaning back to rest against his chair.

The Maester steps into the room, the door clicking shut behind him, and quickly makes his way over to the desk where he hands the letter to Steffon who takes it with a small dip of the chin. The letter is from Aerys, unsurprisingly, and Steffon finds himself anxious to hear from his cousin. It's been too long since they've spoken and normally Steffon would find some sort of amusement in Aerys' letters, even if they were scolding him for some perceived misdoing, this time however all Steffon can feel is dread.

Because Aerys wants to marry Rhaegar to Ostara and that should be a good thing, it would allow Steffon to strengthen his house and tie his family to the Iron Throne, but he has already spoken to Tywin about possibly joining their houses through marriage and on top of that... On top of that there is no way out of this should the two not be a good match.

"You've read it?" Steffon asks Cressen.

"I have."

"And what do you think I should do? Aerys will not turn his eye from Ostara and I find myself conflicted."

Across from him Maester Cressen sucks in a steady breath and says, "You could ask the King to allow Ostara and the Prince to become better acquainted... Under the guise of ensuring they are a compatible match to better cement the stability of the kingdom should they marry."

"And this is a guise?" Steffon asks, lip curling at one end.

He will not have his daughter wed to a man who would raise a hand to his wife, or lock her away for supposed infidelity. It is one of the reasons he had been hesitant to betroth Ostara to Tywin's boy, while he doubts Tywin would ever raise a son who would willingly strike a woman he did not want to make such a decision so soon when they are but children.

Steffon sighs as he pushes papers off to the side to make room on the desk for his response to Aerys.

"I find myself unable to decide whether or not this is a terrible idea." Steffon mutters more to himself then Cressen, but the Maester bows his head anyways and lowers himself into the spare chair across from Steffon.

"It is the will of the Gods, my Lord."

"Is that right?"

"Aye."

"Well," Steffon remarks, setting the letter aside to dry, "you can be the one to tell Ostara then."

"Why tell her anything yet? Wait for the King's response. If he agrees to allow the children time to know one another perhaps a certain fondness will grow between them and when the time comes to tell them of the betrothal it will not seem so terrible to them."

Steffon pinches the bridge of his nose.

For some reason he has a feeling that no matter what he does Ostara's going to be furious when she finds out about this betrothal. Hopefully, the two come to love one another... Or become fairly good friends. They'll both have to marry one day and if the only say Steffon has in his daughter's marriage is this then so be it. Even this is better then tying Ostara to the royal family when she's barely tall enough to fit into her stirrups.

With a sigh Steffon checks the dryness of the ink and, after finding it dry, folds it and seals it with the black wax his own father had sealed his letters with. He hands the letter off to Cressen to be sent to King's Landing.

~X~

"Did you know father has betrothed Robert to Cersei Lannister?" Stannis asks one evening as he helps Ostara practice her sets in the Godswood.

"He's _nine_."

"It's nothing binding, I overheard mother and father talking about it, it'll be formalized later after Robert's become a man."

After he hits puberty. After he's capable of having babies of his own.

 _Fuck_.

Ostara spins away from Stannis and brings her little wooden practice sword down on his.

Arranged marriages are, quite frankly, horrifying. They were practiced in the Wizarding World but they're much more prevalent here. Ostara's only seen a few marriages result in happy, loving relationships (her parent's relationship and that of Tywin and Joanna Lannister's too) but she's also seen some fall apart completely and end with one or both people in the relationship hating the other.

She doesn't want that for herself, or Stannis, or Robert.

Luckily, Robert and Stannis will have some say. If they find their future wives to be unbearably terrible they can talk to their father about breaking the arrangement, Ostara might be able to do the same if their father attempts such a thing with her, unfortunately women in this world don't have much say in their marriage arrangements.

"Do you want to marry, Stannis?" Ostara asks.

Stannis merely raises a dark eyebrow at her and says, "Should father and mother arrange something I will do my duty."

"That's not what I was asking."

"Do you want to marry, Ostara?" Her brother asks.

 _Yes_ , is the immediate response that sits heavy on her tongue, _but on my terms_.

"It's not about whether or not I want to marry, Stannis... I just don't like that our parents are making these decisions for us."

Stannis scoffs and Ostara's sword goes flying through the dirt and leaves.

"Get used to it, Ostara," Stannis comments as he moves to pick up the fallen sword. "One day father and mother will be presenting you with suitors."

It's not a lie, that's why Ostara's so upset about it. And instead of answering Ostara merely wipes her forehead with the back of her hand and tries not to think about the inevitable fact that her father will one day try to marry her off to some rich lord to strengthen his ties to other kingdoms. She tries not to think about how she'll react to that.

Tries not to think about any of it as Stannis escorts her back to her chambers that evening after they've finished going through sets. But it's hard. When Stannis stops outside her door Ostara presses a chaste kiss to his cheek and moves to slip into the privacy of her own space. She's stopped by Stannis' voice.

"I wouldn't mind it." Stannis says.

"What?"

"Marrying someone... I wouldn't mind it."

"Even if it were arranged?"

"I trust mother and father to have my best interest in mind, Ostara, even if you don't."

It hurts because it's true.

"I never said I didn't trust our parents, Stannis."

"But you don't." Stannis glances off to the side and sighs, "I'm not saying you have to marry whoever they suggest or pick for you, that wouldn't be fair, but at least consider it before you do anything rash."

Ostara rolls her eyes, "It's lovely seeing you so concerned over my supposed rash behavior."

Across from her Stannis shrugs and runs a hand over his head. He'd gotten it cut the other day and the curls are closer to his scalp then Ostara thinks he should wear it but that's neither here nor thee.

"Our parents want you to be happy, Ostara... Sometimes happiness requires sacrifice."

"Goodnight, Stannis." Ostara whispers.

Her brother says nothing as she slips into the darkness of her chambers and Ostara's thankful for it. The last thing she needs is to be having a personal discussion about why she's so horrified by the idea of an arranged marriage. Not all of it has to do with the fact that it's arranged and that's what makes Ostara sick to her stomach.

Ripping her leathers over her head and tossing them onto the floor Ostara stalks over to her bed where she curls up among the blankets and pillows and the openly confused shadowcat that mewls at her as Ostara buries her face in his fur and tries to sleep.

~X~

The next morning finds Ostara going about her daily routines like she would any other day. She sits through her music and sewing lessons, dances with her brother and the Steward's son, has lunch, and goes off to find Master Daevyn for their lessons.

He's stepped away from teaching her the sword or strategy and has started sitting her down to discuss poisons.

Ostara suspects it has something to do with the man that died the other day. The man who'd dared to strike Cerys. Neither of them have talked about the man or what happened that night, though their relationship seems to have strengthened a great deal, but Ostara thinks her father or Maester Cressen might have had something to do with the man's death.

Either way it doesn't matter, Ostara's glad he's dead.

And she relishes in the fact that she's learning something a bit more dangerous then a blade.

"Do you know what this is?" Daevyn asks, holding aloft a long golden chain from which a stick of black crystal dangles.

"I don't know." Ostara replies, eyes lingering on the shiny black crystal.

Daevyn Sand presses it into her hand and Ostara runs a thumb over the smooth surface of the jewel.

"A quarter dissolved in a man's drink will kill him in a day, half will kill him sooner, but it is bitter and best used when a man is well into his cups."

"it's poison."

"From Asshai."

Ostara stares at the shard of crystallized poison and purses her lips together. Poison is said to be a woman's weapon but Ostara's never been fond of it, Hermione hadn't been either. Renaehra had dabbled in poisons, had taken them into her own body and built a tolerance for a great many of them. Nothing that would have rendered the poison ineffective but enough that it would have slowed the affects until she could find the antidote.

She wonders if any of her other lives favored poisons.

With a frown Ostara hands the necklace back and says, "Is it a quick death?"

"Aye, like goign to sleep."

"Master Daevyn, why are you teaching me about poisons?"

"Because enemies do not attack with blades alone." Daevyn says in reply and Ostara can't find any words to dispute his claim.

~X~

 _Ostara_ , the voice is a faint whisper int he darkness of her room. _Ostara, it is time to begin_.

The girl in question pulls away from the warm, furry body of her familiar and twists to look at the shadowy being hovering ominously over her bed.

"Time to begin what?"

 _Come_.

Knowing better then to argue Ostara rolls out of bed, makes her way over to the trunk at the foot of her bed, and stops when she finds her path blocked by _him_. Ostara frowns up at him but doesn't say anything as he offers her wand to her. With steady fingers Ostara takes her wand and rolls it in her grip, carefully running the pad of her thumb over the delicately carved handle.

"Where are we going?" Ostara demands, because normally Phil would have at least allowed her to change out of her nightgown and dressing robe.

This time he merely grabs hold of her wrist and pulls her to him before plunging them both into darkness. A darkness that is soon split by the cool glow of moonlight pouring into a room decorated with maroon and gold. There's a wardrobe pressed against one wall along with a series of trunks, a dressing table, a writing desk, and two doors. One open and leading to another room and one closed.

A sharp inhale of breath has Ostara whipping around, wand held up and at the ready, only to find herself staring at the peaceful face of a lovely woman with golden hair and feline cheekbones. The swell of her belly is barely concealed by her bedclothes and her blankets.

She can't be more then what? Six or seven months along?

 _Do you know what you must do?_

Ostara shakes her head, too afraid to speak lest she accidentally wake the woman.

Suddenly Ostara is being pushed closer and closer to the bed until the fine velvet bed skirt brushes over the tops of her feet and across her ankles. The woman in the bed murmurs in her sleep and Ostara wants to pull away but Phil is taking her hand and pressing it to the woman's stomach and something firm presses into her palm but something in her stomach twists and says, _something's not right_.

Never being one to ignore her instincts Ostara reaches out with a tendril of power that tastes like copper in her mouth, that burns through her veins, and she frowns when she turns to look at Phil.

 _You can save her_ , he says.

Ostara swallows thickly.

"What happens if she dies?"

 _Does it matter?_

No.

No it doesn't matter.

Because he's brought her here, to this woman, and Ostara cannot find it in herself to turn her back on an innocent woman who's done nothing wrong, nor turn her back on the babe in her womb. So it is with shaking hands that Ostara reaches out and presses her other hand to the woman's belly.

"I'm no healer." She whispers.

Phil says nothing.

Closing her eyes Ostara reaches deep within herself, to that growing mass of power living in the very core of her being. It all comes to her. The familiar crackle of Hermione's magic, the slightly-less familiar burn of Renaehra's birthright, and the all together unfamiliar presence of something that tastes like burnt ozone on her tongue. Ostara frowns as she reaches for that unfamiliar presence, wondering if it'll help in her task, and finds herself sucking in a sharp breath as it crashes over her.

Ostara shakes and shivers, teeth gritting together, blood seeping from her left nostril and into her mouth as the power presses against every part of her. Filling her, drowning her, swallowing her whole.

With a choked gasp Ostara rips away from the woman, stumbling back until her feet slide out from under her and Ostara is left sprawled across cold stone. Panting and gagging Ostara reaches up to wipe the blood away from her nose.

 _What are you waiting for, Ostara?_

Shooting a nasty glare at the being hovering in the corner Ostara crawls over to the bed and pulls herself up to resume her previous position over the woman's prone form. How she hasn't woken is a mystery to Ostara. It's probably got something to do with Phil.

She doesn't reach for that unfamiliar magic again, she can deal with it later but for now it's not something she wants to attempt working with. So instead she presses one hand to the woman belly and the other to her forehead, closes her eyes, and calls forth the magic she knows and understands and controls just as easily as breathing.

The woman begins shifting in her sleep, murmuring in such a way that suggests she's beginning to wake. Without a thought Ostara wills her magic to make her stronger, healthier, more likely to survive the birth. It's not much, she hasn't had the time to do the proper research required for a treatment like this, but it's enough. It has to be enough.

Phil's hand on her shoulder is the only warning Ostara gets before he is pulling her away from the woman and back into the endless oblivion between here and there.

~X~

"Do you feel sick, Ostara?" Cerys asks the next afternoon as Ostara helps her with her numbers.

"Hm?"

Cerys' hand is cool against her skin when the other girl moves to check her temperature with her palm.

"You're burning up."

"I'm find Cerys, truly... I didn't sleep well is all."

Blue eyes narrow as the girl says, "If you're sure..."

Instead of saying anything more about it Ostara redirects their conversation to the mathematical problems spread across Cerys' parchment. It's all incredibly easy, basic addition and subtraction, but for someone with no formal education to speak of it might seem rather difficult. Ostara honestly doesn't care, Cerys needs to know these things, and Ostara's the most qualified person to teach her.

The perks of Hermione's education, muggle and magical both.

Besides, Cerys isn't stupid, she understands a great deal of what Ostara's teaching her. Soon Ostara suspects they'll be able to move onto harder tasks such as multiplying and dividing large numbers.

It's all very exciting, really.

Ostara smooths her hands over her skirt and shifts closer to look at Cerys' work, smiling when she comes across fewer mistakes then her last attempt.

Neither of them talk much outside of Cerys asking questions and Ostara answering them, it's nice. Ostara doesn't want to think about the night before, the blonde woman and her baby and the strange power that had made her head spin. Ostara doesn't want to think about any of it and so she focuses on Cerys until her mother come to collect her for another fitting, then Ostara says goodbye to the blonde sitting beside her and tells her they can pick up their lesson tomorrow before moving to follow her mother out into the corridor.


	11. I Told My Wrath, My Wrath did End

News of Joanna Lannister's new child reaches Storm's End months later.

Ostara is nearing nine and she's thought very little about the Lannister woman since that night in the woman's bedchambers. Too engrossed with discovering her new powers and harnessing them to bother with a pregnant woman. Obviously, that's a mistake Ostara will never be making again. Ever. Thankfully nothing happened to Joanna or the baby.

All the same, she listens carefully to her mother as she reads Joanna's letter to Steffon at lunch.

They're whispering to one another. That can't be good. Ostara sips at her water and pays closer attention to the conversation being had between the two adults. Her mother is telling her father about the childbirth, apparently there'd been so much blood and Lady Lannister is so weak now that the Maester won't allow her out of bed until she's regained most of her strength.

It's to be expected though, magic can only do so much after all. Ostara's not worried about it. She even goes to turn her attention back to her meal, only stopping when something her father says chills her to the very bone.

"Lady Lannister has given birth to a _what_?" Ostara growls, slipping into their conversation with as much grace as can be expected given her anger and her disbelief.

Beside her, Stannis goes still and looks up from the book Maester Cressen had given him to read. It's about the Dance of Dragons, Ostara's read it twice. It's interesting but hardly very informative when it comes to battle strategies and the flaws of both parties involved in the conflict. It's very biased and Ostara would much rather have Stannis read something better suited to his needs.

"Lady Lannister," Her father repeats, "has given birth to a dwarf."

"You mean a babe?"

"Well, it is a babe. Yes. Lady Lannister fears it will not last the month."

While Ostara understands that a good portion of the babies born in Westeros die before the reach their sixth or seventh year the young witch isn't upset about that. Because she understands Joanna Lannister's worry. It's her father's flippancy that has her raging.

"So I'm to assume that because the babe's dwarfism means that it's not worthy of having a gender to be acknowledged by if no name has been chosen yet. Is that correct?" Ostara bites out, fingers curling around the handle of her knife until her knuckles turn pale.

"I beg your pardon, young lady?"

"Oh, right, I forgot," Ostara stands and levels her father with a glare, "it's our gods given right to degrade a child, right? I mean, Gods forbid we don't judge a babe for something out of even our control and reduce the poor thing to nothing more than an _it_ simply due to the fact that we find the situation disturbing." Ostara is spitting mad and her father looks like he's more shocked by her outburst then upset. "Excuse me, please, I'm just going to go and write to Lady Lannister and congratulate her on surviving the difficult birth or having a relatively healthy child seeing as no one else wants to."

With that said Ostara pivots on her heel, storms to the door, throws it open, and stomps out into the corridor leaving her stunned family behind her. She knows that later there will be hell to pay, her father or mother will likely punish her for her disrespect but Ostara's simply can't bring herself to care. Not when there are so many reasons Ostara's angry with her parents and this entire fucking world.

Reducing the worth of a baby, an innocent child who has done nothing wrong, to his or her outward appearance... It's sick. It's cruel. Besides, it's hardly the baby's fault that he or she was born with dwarfism traits, if anything it's Tywin and Joanna's combines genetics that caused it. The fact that no one can see that and have already begun reducing the worth of the child to outward appearance is horrific.

Ostara slams the door to her room behind her and paces like a trapped animal.

Rubeus moves to lay across her bed, eyes blazing in the sunlight streaming in through her window. His presence is calming, Ostara doesn't feel like she's suffocating, doesn't feel like the sudden beating and howling of the wind at her window is her fault (even if it is and she's quite aware of the foreign magic stirring in her blood).

Sucking in a deep breath Ostara rushes over to the bed, drops to the floor, pulls out the hidden trunk, and begins rummaging through it until she finds one of the old Latin journals full of spells at the bottom of the trunk. She pulls it out and begins flipping through it until she comes to a paged lined with carefully penned instructions. With gritted teeth Ostara makes her way over to the wardrobe.

Pushing her dresses to the side Ostara moves her attention from the journal to the unsuspecting wood of her closet's back panel.

"We," Ostara tells her shadowcat as she reaches to pull her wand out of her pocket, "are taking a little trip."

Behind her Rubeus makes a sound and Ostara twists to offer thin a tight lipped grin before turning back to the closet. The Latin that spills past her lips is softly spoken but clear and the tip of her wand glows a strange off-pink as she begins to trace it along the seams of the closet.

The spell she's using is similar to the one linking the vanishing cabinets Draco Malfoy used to sneak Death Eaters into Hogwarts but a bit less finicky. It's entire purpose is to create a passage from one place to the other, only accessible to the witch or wizard who casts the spell. No one aside from Ostara will be using or finding this little portal between her bedroom in Storm's End and Renaehra's bedroom in Valyria.

Ostara thinks that would be the best place to go.

Valyria is quiet, empty save for the ghosts of Renaehra's memories that come to her in dreams and brief flashes whenever they see fit. It'll be a good place to practice her magic and blow off steam. She needs to check on her potion ingredients anyway. Phil hasn't mentioned them and she wonders if he even knows how to care for the plants properly.

Pointing the Tip of her wand at the center of the closet backing Ostara envisions the finely crafted Wardrobe in Valyria and thinks of it as more a door then anything else.

There's a sharp sound, like splintering wood, before a thread of light races down the middle of the backing to create something akin to a double door. Ostara pushes against one side of the split and smiles when the wood swings out to reveal Renaehra's dusty, forgotten room. Her head is pounding and her muscles stiff but it worked. It worked and Ostara feels pride well up to replace her discomfort.

A knock on her door has Ostara scrambling away from her own closet and shutting the door with a smack.

"Ostara, open the door."

It's her mother.

"One moment."

Ostara doesn't want to let her in, not really, but she can't just disappear through the newly made portal either. It would cause her mother to panic and send the Keep into a frenzy, which wouldn't do seeing as it would only get Ostara into more trouble. So in the grand scheme of things letting her mother in is really the best option.

After her mother has entered the room Ostara crosses her arms over her chest and frowns.

"I'll not apologize."

Her mother presses her lips together, "Ostara, it is not your place to write to Lady Lannister nor is it your place to speak to your father the way you have."

"Why? Because I'm a child?" Ostara demands and at her mother's exasperated look she continues, "What would have happened if Stannis had been born different, or me, or Robert? Would you or father allow others to use such derogatory language when speaking of us? Would you use it? I am angry because it's apparently perfectly acceptable to attack a child for something as uncontrollable as outward appearance."

Cassana Baratheon sighs and it sounds strange, exasperated and sad and maybe even frustrated.

"Ostara, I understand why you're angry but there are some things even you cannot change, certainly not with disrespect and anger in any case."

"I am I being punished?" Ostara bites out.

"Yes, but your father and I have decided that as you are not old enough to understand so no whipping boy will be chosen to take your punishment but you will be confined to your chambers without supper."

The horror must show on her face because her mother reaches out to stroke her cheek. Ostara steps away from her, sick with the anger and disgust warring in her belly. She's read about whipping boys in Hermione's books on medieval culture and she's heard the parents of other noble children threaten to designate one to take their child's punishment but... Ostara has never actually seen another child take punishment meant for a lord's son or daughter.

It's disgusting, it's sick.

Her mother is speaking but there's a ringing in Ostara's ears and she barely has control over the heat searing in her veins.

 _Control it_ , she thinks, _control it!_

There's a soft press of something over her hair then the click of wooden heels and finally Ostara is left alone in her room. The door's locked firmly when she tries to open it. Fucking perfect.

Ostara changes into a her training leathers, grabs her wand and the journal she'd used earlier, and waits until Rubues is beside her before storming over to the wardrobe and ripping open the door. The portal is still open and Rubeus leaps from one side of the closet to the other with graceful ease before turning to face Ostara.

She follows after him without a second thought, only pausing to pull the doors of her wardrobe shut behind her.

~X~

Blood pools in the center of her palm and Ostara shakes as she presses her hand back to her nose where the blood is slowing to a stop. The training yard is a mess around her, a result of years of improper care and Ostara's own rage. Marble and stone litter the floor around her, there's a distant rumble of storm clouds and Ostara finds herself wondering if she'll be able to get herself together before the storm reaches her.

Probably not.

She is so incredibly angry at the moment that the thought of calming down and regaining control of her magic is a laughable thought indeed.

 _No whipping boy will be chosen_ , her mother's voice rings in her ears, _no whipping boy will be chosen_.

 _No whipping boy._

Ostara growls, fingers curling into fists at her sides. A few feet away a large portion of what might have been the ceiling at some point begins to shake, then it begins to rise off of the ground and Ostara barely has time to glance at it before it's shooting off to smack against another large pile of ruble. The resulting spray of dust and marble crumbs doesn't even bother her.

With a sigh Ostara pulls her hand away from her nose, licks the blood away from her lip, and vanishes the mess from the palm of her hand.

There's not much else she can do at the moment. She's already destroyed what was left of the training yard, reduced it to nothing more then rubble and dust, even the stone beneath her feet is splintering and all because of the magic Ostara had inherited from her father's bloodline. Wild and uncontrollable and dangerous in a way that had made Ostara shiver delightfully upon realizing what, exactly, she was dealing with.

What she would be dealing with for the rest of her life.

Ostara rakes a hand through her hair, sighs, and glances around the training yard.

It's a damn shame, what happened here. From what Ostara can remember the Vaelmaereon house had been beautiful. The epitome of craftsmanship and art during the height of the Valyrian freehold. Ostara bites her lip. Now it's nothing more then a dusty, broken, pile of ruble only standing to serve as a reminder of the terrors that happened here.

She could fix it... If she wanted.

It would be slow going but Ostara could fix the ruins of the Vaelmaereon Keep, give herself a place to work and train and escape should she need to. All she'd need is her wand and time.

Besides, it would give her something productive to do as opposed to sitting around and destroying things.

Pursing her lips Ostara glances around the training yard, fingers drifting to her pocket where her wand rests, and asks herself whether or not it's a good idea. She'd need to explore the rest of the keep to ensure no protective measures would be set off due to Ostara's magic. It's a good plan, something that will distract her from her anger but keep her active so as not to become boring.

Ostara turns on her heel and moves to there Rubeus is spread out across the ground next to the door.

"Come on, we're going to look around." She tells the amber eyed feline, to which he yawns and rises to follow her out the door into the corridor which attaches the training yard to the rest of the keep.

Pressed against her thigh Rubeus is a reassuring presence, always there, never straying. Ostara reaches out to lace her fingers through his fur and take comfort in the fact that no matter what her familiar will be there to protect her from the worst of whatever they might find.

And what they find is dust, bones, and relics.

Ostara is especially bothered by the bodies littered around the keep.

Some of them she thinks she could recognize had they not been stripped of their skin, others she doesn't recognize at all. It doesn't matter. A good portion of the bodies she finds are slaves. It's the collars around their throats or the chains around their ankles that give their status away. She removes the shackles and collars, kneeling in the ash to vanish the Valyrian steel keeping them hostage.

It is... It is the least Ostara can do for them.

But even then her anger, her hatred, toward the men and women who did this to these people does not fade. It grows, like a wild festering thing and Ostara decides that no matter how long it takes, no matter what she has to do to achieve it, slavery will be abolished in this world. This time it won't be with knitted hats and S.P.E.W pins. It'll be with fire and magic and the resulting storm she will bring.

Because these people did not deserve the hand they'd been dealt in life.

They didn't deserve a damn bit of it.

Something moves in the corner of her vision and Ostara whips around, wand raised, a spell leaving her lips, and she barely has time to wince as the ball of silvery white light sifts through the darkness of the being stand behind her.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ostara yells, heart stamping a crescendo against her sternum.

Phil merely stares at her form beneath his hood before disappearing into shadow and mist, he reappears at the end of the hall with his hand outstretched and pointing at a door.

Ostara stomps over to where he's standing, Rubeus at her side, and stops at the door to glare at the being.

"I don't really appreciate you just popping up whenever you want and just expecting me to go along with your plans," Ostara bites out. "I've got plans of my own and if you think I'm just going to drop everything for you then you've obviously got the wrong impression of me."

Instead of replying Phil merely stands and continues to point at the door.

"Are you giving me the silent treatment? Seriously? You are not five." Ostara snaps, but she's already moving to rip the door open.

The fact that nothing flies out to smack into the being standing in front of the door is a disappointment to say the least. Ostara would have liked to see that... Even if it didn't do anything. It still would have been funny to watch.

Ostara peaks around the door to stare into the darkness, barely able to make out the impression of stairs leading down into what must be the lower levels of the keep. Something aches in her, a deep yearning for whatever's hidden in the darkness. The strange thing is, it's not a feeling coming from Ostara personally. It's something older, something like an imprint of a forgotten memory.

It's Renaehra's longing, her yearning, her desperation.

Not Ostara's.

"What's down there?" Ostara asks, horrified by the slight quiver in her voice.

She tells herself she has the right to be upset after the morning she's had and it helps her feel a little better about herself. Especially when Phil's silence grows to fill the space around them and Ostara's sure she can hear her heart beat, beat, beating in her chest.

Thankfully, it's Rubeus that makes the decision of whether or not to begin the trek down into the darkness. He presses passed her, quickly disappearing into the darkness, and Ostara pulls her wand out to light her way as she chases after him, careful of the loose steps that would have killed her had she not thought to light her wand.

Around her the air smells like mold and rotting meat, a cloying stench that makes Ostara gag as she continues down into the darkness.

Down and down and down until she begins to wonder how long she's been following after Rubues.

The shadowcat doesn't seem terribly worried which is a relief. It means nothing's lingering in the dark to attack or hurt them. Nothing's waiting to kill them. It's a relief in and of itself, Ostara's nerves are shot as it is, the last thing she needs is to extinguish her light to fight off invisible assailants.

Suddenly there's nothing but air beneath her feet and Ostara shrieks as she pitches forward, stumbling across flat ground and running shoulder first into something that clangs and shutters beneath her. Ostara pulls away and moves her wand up to see what she's just run into and finds herself standing before a set of intricately carved, circular iron door similar to that of a vault.

On either side of the door are the skeletons of four men who'd been instructed to guard the door at the cost of their lives. A task it would seem their took quite literally. None of them wear the collars or chains of a slave though so Ostara has to assume they were soldiers loyal to the Vaelmaereon house.

Ostara eyes the dead men as she extinguishes her wand and points it at the door.

"Alohomora."

A low, almost mechanical whirl fills the air and Ostara jumps back just in time to avoid getting smacked by the door as it pops open. Ostara steps off the the side before magicking the door open completely to ensure she doesn't get killed by any possible booby traps set up to kill unwanted visitors.

Nothing happens.

Ostara feels mildly silly when she steps out of her hiding place to meet Rubeus stare. He seems mildly disappointed in her. Ostara kind of understands why. But instead of bothering with embarrassment Ostara steps closer to the inky black hole left by the now open vault door, clears her throat, and steps into the shadows.

Whatever magic the Vaelmaereons set up must have been exceptionally powerful because the golden light that floods the room was not produced by Ostara's magic. Not that Ostara's worried about _that_ at the moment. No, her attention is focused on the piles of gold and jewels and trunks filling the room. Stepping further into the treasury, further into the sea of gold and precious gems, Ostara wonders why he would urge her to come here.

"... I guess it's finders keepers." Ostara mutters more to herself then anything but Rubeus pads off anyway, in search of rodents or something else Ostara isn't sure she wants to know.

Ostara herself begins making her way toward the side where a small chest of necklaces had been left open on a display table.

 _Stop_ , a feminine voice rings through her head, _not those_.

Frowning, Ostara glances around the room.

What else would she be here for if nor jewelry or coin or the occasional weapon? Some of the other chests might hold something of more value but Ostara doubts it would be anything so important that she'd hallucinate Renaehra's voice.

Unless...

Ostara isn't aware that she's moving until she's halfway to the far end of the treasury but by that point there's no point in stopping so Ostara allows whatever muscle memory is controlling her actions to guide her to the back of the room where she stops before a simple looking trunk laid out on a raised platform.

 _Open it_ , the voice from early practically roars, _open it now_.

"Why?" Ostara asks, fingers trailing over the lid, "What's in there?"

But there is no reply, no answering thought, not even an image to tell Ostara what's hidden in the chest.

Swearing, Ostara unlocks the trunk with a quick spell and pulls the lid up to reveal the contents of the oh so important chest. Almost immediately after her blood turns to ice water in her veins. Because resting on a bed of white sand are ten dragon eggs, each of which is paired off with a twin and tucked safely against one another against the sand and the smooth wood of the chest.

With trembling hands Ostara reaches out to brush her knuckle over on of the eggs, a pretty metallic grey thing notably larger then the others, and bites her lips when her skin is met with warm scales as opposed to fossilized stone.

"No," Ostara says as she slams the lid shut and turns on her heel. "No, we're not doing this."

By the time she's made her way back to the entrance of the treasury Rubeus is waiting for her and so is Phil, they both watch her dispassionately as Ostara practically sprints to the stairs. She leaves the door wide open, leaves the dragon eggs unprotected and exposed along with everything else in that room, but no one's coming to claim them anytime soon and Ostara's not going to fall prey to whatever game Phil is playing.

~X~

Pacing around her chamber like a caged animal Ostara thinks about everything that happened today.

She's still mad at her parents and that's not going to change anytime soon (because _a whipping boy_ ) but she can admit that when compared to everything else that's happened in the subsequent four plus hours is a lot more worrisome then how she's going to get her parents to give up on the idea of using a whipping boy. Because there is a chest full of dragon eggs in the Vaelmaereon treasury and how the fuck did that happen?

Obviously they hadn't been put there by any of the Vaelmaereons as none of them would ever dare to put their dragon eggs anywhere like a treasury vault but also because those eggs aren't... They aren't like a typical dragon egg.

Not any that can be found in this world anyway.

She'd recognized them easily enough, Hermione had done quite a bit of research during Harry's first task in the Tri-Wizard Tournament and she'd become rather familiar with dragons, or as familiar as a person can get when they've no hands-on training.

There are five different dragons resting in that chest in the Vaelmaereon treasury, and seeing as they've been paired off Ostara would bet good money on the eggs being a male and a female respectively. Which brings up the question; Why would Phil bring the dragon eggs to this world? Why would he want her to find them?

None of it makes any sense and Ostara hates not knowing.

"This," Ostara tells her familiar, "would be so much easier if you could talk."

The shadowcat stares at her before turning his attention back to the flank he'd been grooming before Ostara interrupted him.

Sighing, Ostara makes her way over to the journals spread out on her bed and resumes the task of flipping through them in search of something, anything, pertaining to dragons. There's not much. Most of Renaehra's writing involved spells and potions, not step-by-step instructions on how to raise your death-by-fire babies. Everything Renaehra would have known about training dragons likely would have been passed down orally.

And there's another thing! Ostara's so worried about raising dragons and keeping them safe that she almost doesn't realize that she's fallen right into _his_ trap.

Whatever reason he would bring dragons from Hermione's world and deposit them in this one is beyond her and Ostara doesn't know how to feel about it if she's being completely honest.

Dragons are dangerous, incredibly so, and while Ostara might be able to raise them that doesn't take away the fact that not only would she be putting herself at risk (her family at risk too) but the entirety of the world. If Ostara can't control those dragons then at some point someone is going to get hurt.

 _But_ , a voice that isn't quite hers soothes, _you will have your memories._

Ostara scoffs.

Right, memories. Fucking load of good memories have done Ostara.

Shaking the viciousness of the thought from her head Ostara moves to lay across her bed. It'll be best for her to plan her next moves very, very carefully but she can't do that on less then three hours of sleep. So it's with a groan that Ostara rolls over to face the window, curls around her pillow, and falls into a fitful rest full of dreams of dragons and flame and a girl with laughing red-purple eyes.


	12. Maiden of Myth, Mother of Magic

Evenings later Ostara slips back through the wardrobe and into the Vaelmaereon keep, hands trembling as she readjusts the strap on the leather satchel she'd brought with her, the books inside seemingly more heavy now then when she'd first gathered them that morning. The books are of mysterious origin and had appeared on her writing desk at some point in the night.

Another _lovely_ gift from Phil it would seem.

Sighing, Ostara adjusts the silken tie she'd used to create a make-shift hair band to keep her hair out of her face. The last thing she needs right now is the damn thing falling off or coming loose. So just to be sure it won't come off Ostara secures it in place with a bit of magic before slipping out of Renaehra's room and into the corridor. She takes her time getting to the treasury, not in any true hurry to get back to Storm's End. It's nearly midnight, no one will be coming to check on her any time soon which means Ostara's got until around three to finish up her current project and make it back to catch a bit of shut eye.

When the familiar, unassuming wooden door comes into view Ostara pulls her wand from her pocket and casts a lumos before stepping into the darkness. She takes the steps carefully as she's still so unsure about which steps are loose and which are missing. But eventually she makes it to the vault door, open, just as she'd left it. Sucking in a steady breath Ostara steps into the treasury.

This time she doesn't tense when the torches burst to life, doesn't squint against the onslaught of shimmering gold and jewels, instead she squares her shoulders and marches to the back of the treasury where the little chest of dragon eggs is waiting for her. Slowly, Ostara grabs her wand and levitates the chest up into the air where she pauses for a moment to make sure nothing adverse happens with the chest before deciding it's safe enough to begin proper transport.

And this time the trip back up the stairs and to the main level of the keep is far more intimidating then the trip down.

Thankfully, she doesn't trip on any loose stones or fall through a missing stair. Aside from a questionable moment when she thought something ran over her foot Ostara hasn't had any trouble navigating the stairs in the dark. Once she's made it to the main level of the house Ostara shuts the door leading to the treasury and begins making her way down the corridor toward the work room where most of her potions ingredients have been stored and sorted.

There's a fire pit in the work room that Ostara can charm and ward, it's the safest place to keep the dragon eggs until it's time for them to hatch too seeing as the room's made of mostly stone.

When she does eventually reach the work room Ostara places the chest full of eggs on the floor beside the fire pit before moving to move the plants and herbs handing from the ceiling to a different part of the room where they won't be affected by the heat. Once that's done Ostara moves back to the chest and kneels on the floor between the fire pit and the chest.

Brilliant red flames erupt in the fire pit at Ostara's prompting, casting an eerie light around the room. The heat that radiates up from the flame is intense and Ostara can feel the heat of it almost to her bones.

With a shake of the head Ostara turns her attention away from the fire pit.

Something shifts inside her, tensing and easing in anticipation as Ostara flips the lid of the chest up.

The eggs lying in the chest are lovely. A mix of colors and shapes and textures against the polished wood grain. Ostara reaches for the first egg and carefully drags her thumb over the rough scales. One of the books in her satchel suggests that the egg in her hand will hatch a Ukranian Ironbelly, that it'll be the biggest of the dragons. All Ostara can think about is the great beast guarding the Lestrange Vault that she and her boys had escaped with all those years ago.

Carefully, Ostara places the egg in the fire pit and turns her attention back to the others.

It's a carefully process, Ostara doesn't want to accidentally burn herself in the flames but she needs to make sure the eggs have the best heat source available. Thankfully none of the eggs slip out of her fingers... Actually... Ostara doesn't have any problems transferring the eggs from the chest to the fire pit. It's only when she's moving to shift away from the flames that anything truly remarkable happens.

One second Ostara's moving to make sure she grabbed all of the eggs and the next a stone beneath her hand is slipping out from it's place, pitching Ostara forward toward the pit.

Reacting on reflex alone Ostara twists to avoid her eggs, hissing when her palm drags across a partially broken stone that causes blood to well up and drip, drip, drip into the fire pit. But that isn't the worst of it. The worst of it comes with the fact that Ostara's shirt has caught fire and is slowly turning to nothing but ash on her body, only, it doesn't burn _her_.

Shoving herself out of the pit Ostara puts out the flame and checks her arm, finding the skin smooth and unharmed.

"What the hell?" Ostara mutters to herself as she drags a bloody finger up and down her forearm.

Sighing, Ostara rises and makes her way over to the granite counter where she can heal her hand and deal with her shirt. There's not a whole lot she can do to repair the shirt itself but she can go looking for a replacement in Jacaegon's chambers as soon as she cleans herself up.

Ostara never even notices the thick splatter of blood covering the eggs in the fire pit, she never even sees how it begins to smoke and sizzle and slowly seep into the amniotic fluid beneath the eggs' outer protective layer.

~X~

"There," Ostara says as she rocks back to rest on her heels, "that should just about do it."

In the few months since finding the little dragon eggs and ultimately deciding to hatch them Ostara has managed to repair a good portion of the Vaelmaereon keep. She'd started with Renaehra's room as it needed the least amount of work and magical skill to repair, after that she'd slowly worked up to more complex tasks. She's already gotten the great hall fixed and a few other rooms as well, next she'll move on to the training yard.

And once everything's done here Ostara can move on to the other keeps left to weather the centuries after the Doom.

With a groan the young witch rises and brushes sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

She should probably return to Storm's End before anyone notices she's gone, or before the sun rises and she's forced to go through the day without proper sleep. Which, unfortunately, she'll need as much of as possible seeing as Robert is to arrive at Storm's End in a fortnight to celebrate him tenth name's day with his family and the entire keep is in uproar over it.

Ostara is not looking forward to the tourney her mother and father have planned.

Lords and Ladies from many of the houses in the Stormlands under her father's rule has received an invitation and a great many of them have written back saying that they would be in attendance. Which means Storm's End will be close to bursting with men and women by the time Robert's arrived back from the Eyrie. Even the Lord of Tarth will be coming to celebrate alongside his wife and daughter Brienne.

 _It will be good for them_ , Ostara thinks, _especially after Alysanne's death_.

The girl had died of a fever, already frail Alysanne hadn't had much chance with common treatment and Ostara hadn't heard of her illness until they were burying her body.

Ostara had sent Lord Tarth her condolences for Alysanne's death personally and had told the man that should he require anything to simply ask for it and Ostara would see it done. He'd thaked her for her kind words but had never asked her for anything.

Sighing, Ostara gathers up her things and begins making for her potions room. She needs to check on the eggs before she leaves as well as grab a couple of potions she'd brewed the week before. It had been a tedious task to brew the bruise healing paste and to put together a decent pepperup, but she'd done it despite the crowded space and her anxiety that something would go wrong.

Stepping into the work room Ostara moves over to the large cabinet and pulls a jar of thick yellow paste and several vials out before slipping them into her satchel for safe keeping and making her way over to the fire pit.

"And how are you today?" Ostara asks, reaching into the flame to adjust the red and gold egg that had managed to roll away from its clutch mates.

It's something she's been doing more and more of lately, playing with fire.

Ostara smiles at the eggs and brushes off her hands, something stirring in her gut as she stares at the eggs incubating in the pit. The wards she'd set up around the pit hum but Ostara swears she can hear something else too. It's a fleeting thought, however, and the moment Ostara's ensured that her eggs will be fine for the rest of the night she rises, turns on her heel, and exits the room.

 _Mother_ , she thinks she hears and pauses just outside the door, but nothing more is said and so she continues on her way with a shake of the head and a slight frown.

 _Mother, do not leave us._

 _Mother, do not go_.

~X~

Sucking in a sharp breath Ostara waits as Cerys rubs bruise healing paste into the battered skin covering her shoulders and back. Training today had been especially brutal as Daevyn had decided to teach her to ride. He'd thrown her up on one of the younger horses, newly broken, and told her she needed to learn how to feel her horse.

It had taken being thrown into the dirt three times before Ostara understood what he meant.

Fortunately by the end of it Ostara could pretty much tell when the horse was going to try and buck her off or crow-hop around like a moron. Unfortunately Ostara's body had turned black and blue in several places, forcing Ostara to seek out Cerys so that the pretty blonde could help her apply the bruise healing paste.

"And what will this do?" Cerys asks, moving the jar beneath her nose to take a whiff of the paste.

"It'll reduce swelling and heal the bruises." Ostara says as she rubs some of the paste over her thigh.

"Oh... Does it work?"

"Better then Maester Cressen's ointments, I'll get you a jar next time I make some... For now if you ever need it I keep it at the bottom of the trunk at the foot of the bed."

Cerys blushes prettily before returning to her task.

Since the incident with the man that attacked her Cerys has become an even closer friend then Ostara had ever suspected. They'd spoken about what Ostara had done some time after the incident and Cerys had taken it in stride, looking at Ostara with wide eyes and asking for proof. Because anyone can loose their voice to fear. Ostara had taken a sewing needle from the little basket of sewing equipment on her table and had transformed it into a glass bead.

Ever since Cerys and Steffon had become something like accomplices, helping her when she needed it and assisting her with different tasks.

She's never told them about Valyria, probably will never tell them about Valyria until it's absolutely necessary, but it's alright. What they don't know won't kill them after all.

"How long will it take?" Cerys ask as she wipes her hands with a cloth, "For your bruises to fade?"

"A couple of hours I should think seeing as they were quite dark."

"Oh... Do you mind if I try it?"

"Of course not, where is your bruise?"

Without too much hesitation Cerys lifts her skirt and her shift, rolls down her stocking, and reveals the line of purple flesh bisecting her shin. It looks like she might have run into something, a stool maybe? A stair? Ostara pulls the lid off of the jar and carefully scoops out a small amount of paste which she promptly smears across Cerys' leg.

The fine, golden hairs on her leg appear silver when compared to the paste itself.

Ostara wipes her fingers on the same cloth Cerys had used earlier and puts the paste away.

"Ostara?"

"Hm?"

"Is it true that Robert will marry Cersei Lannister?"

"That would appear to be the plan... Our father and Lord Lannister make the arrangement."

A moment of silence. Then, "Will Lord Lannister and his family be coming to Storm's End?"

"Perhaps not, Lord Lannister rarely leaves King's Landing for something like a name's day celebration... Perhaps when Cersei is older he will bring her to be introduced to Robert but I doubt he will come anytime soon."

Which is a damn sham because if Tywin Lannister comes to Storm's End with his family then Ostara can finally meet little Tyrion and introduce herself to Lady Lannister. But perhaps it would be best to wait a while. She's already sent a letter to Joanna Lannister with her best wishes for the mother and her newest child. For the most part it had been well received. No one tried yelling at her when Joanna Lannister's answering missive arrived.

That had surprised Ostara a bit to be honest.

"That's disappointing, isn't it? I had hoped to meet Cersei... Rumor has it that she is going to be a very beautiful woman one day."

"And where did you hear something like that?"

"Ayanna, the new scullery maid, she has a sister that works in Casterly Rock as a laundress and her sister said that Cersei Lannister is a very pretty little girl."

"At least any future nieces and nephews will be adorable then... If Cersei Lannister's attitude is complete shit." Ostara mutters, still more then a little bitter over the entire concept of arrange marriages.

A horrified gasp tells her that she hadn't been quite enough.

"Ostara," Cerys gasps though the queer tilting of her mouth suggests she's trying not to laugh, "you can't say that."

The young witch merely raises an eyebrow and shakes her head.

"If you think that's bad you should hear Robert's language. He's got a mouth on him filthier then an Iron Islander."

Laughter spills from Cerys, sweet and altogether too charming for any little girl to have a right to have. Ostara would be jealous of Cerys' chirp if she weren't so thoroughly amused by her own booming laughter, so similar to her father's and to Stannis' (when he actually laughs, which is rarely ever) that she can't hate it for a moment.

When Cerys finally calms there are tears beading on her eyelashes and her shoulder quake as she sucks in breath after breath to replace the air she'd used laughing at Ostara's rather terrible joke.

"He can't be any worse then Coltyn, he swears all the time." Cerys giggles.

Ostara glances down at the paste covering her shin and decides its been on their long enough to have healed Cerys' bruise. Without much thought she grabs the cloth and rubs the rest of the paste into the skin or off completely before answering Cerys.

"He's the cook isn't he?"

"Yes, and he finds it very amusing to yell profanities as the others."

"Well... Do they tend to slack off?"

"Sometimes."

"Then I can't feel very bad for them can I?" She wonders.

Cerys merely shakes her head before pulling up her stocking and rolling off of the bed to fetch herself a glass of water from the pitcher Ostara keeps on her bedside table. The glint in her eyes tells Ostara that the other girl is more then slightly amused. Ostara counts it as a win.

~X~

"Robert!" Ostara yells at the top of her lungs as her older brother swings out of his saddle and drops onto the group.

He looks different but that's to be expected after so many years. His hair is longer and a bit less wild then Ostara expected, he's got a couple of pimples but all-in-all he looks healthy, and he's grown a few inches too. But so has Ostara so it's not like he can lord his superior height over her, not when all three of the Baratheon children are practically giants in their own right.

"Ostara!"

There's no hesitation in him when Ostara flings her arms around his neck, Robert merely laughs and spins her around until she's dizzy and yelling for him to put her down. Which he does with a fond smile and a gentle pat to the top of her head.

"How was your trip?" Ostara asks as Robert throws his arm over her shoulders to guide her toward where their parents and Stannis are waiting.

Stannis looks more put out then usual, probably because their mother forced him into one of his best doublets and made him leave his studies to greet Robert when he arrived. There are a few other Lords and Ladies meandering about but most of them are down at the tourney ground preparing their tents and their gear to the events planned to take place over the next couple of days.

"Long, I'm glad to be home. How are you? I haven't received any letters, Ostara, one would think you didn't miss me."

"Oh shut up, of course I missed you," Ostara says loudly enough for Robert to hear but not their parents. "I've been busy is all."

"Ah, the lessons of a young Lady. I don't envy you, Ostara."

Ostara remains quite as Robert steps away from her to greet their parents with a large grin and excited rambling. Much to everyone's surprise he even gives Stannis a hug and tell him how much he missed Stannis. It's hilarious, Stannis' reaction, but Ostara refrains from laughing outright even as Stannis grinds his teeth together and steps back out of Robert's reach.

He never does that when Ostara hugs him.

The realization makes her feel incredibly loved.

"Why don't you go freshen up and we'll meet for lunch in, say, an hour?" Their mother suggests, eyes warm and welcoming.

"Then may we visit the tourney grounds, Mother?" Robert asks, eyes wide and incredibly blue.

Cassana Baratheon reaches out to stroke her knuckle down his cheek and nods, "Of course, darling."

Deciding not to linger to see what other pet names their mother can come up with to call Robert, Ostara slips over to Stannis and motions for him to follow her before disappearing into the Keep with Stannis hot on her heels. Once they've gotten far enough away from the courtyard the two of them slow to a stop and stare at one another for a long moment.

"Cerys told me that they were making strawberry pie... Want me to grab us some?" Ostara asks.

"We're supposed to meet mother for lunch."

"Yes, in an hour."

"No."

"Fine... What about a biscuit?"

Beside her Stannis goes still and Ostara knows she has him right where she wants him. So she smiles impishly, curls her fingers around his, and leads him to the kitchens where the air is thick with the smell of smoking meat and other assortments of smells that makes Ostara's head spin a bit. Without much thought she weaves through the crowded kitchen and up to the woman that typically makes the deserts, smiling prettily and rocking back on her heels.

"Good morning, Alys, how are you?"

The aged woman looks up from her work and smiles at Ostara, revealing teeth that could have easily been corrected with braces and perhaps the removal of one or two teeth.

"I'm well. And you?"

"I'm doing very well, thank you... May I ask you a question?"

"You ain't getting any biscuits." Alys says and Ostara smiles a great deal wider.

"Oh, I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for Stannis, consider it a very early name's day present. I'm introducing him to harmless mischief."

Stannis shoots her a light glare but doesn't contradict her. He's learning. Ostara blinks owlishly at the woman and glances at the deserts that have been pulled out and set to the side to cool.

"Well, you can wait for later then."

"Please Alys? We'll only take a broken one."

Alys raises an eyebrow, amused, "What makes you think I broke any?"

"Because I'm your absolute favorite Baratheon and it'll be out little secret, right Stannis?"

"I suppose."

"That means he agrees." Ostara assures the older woman who snorts loudly before moving off to grab a couple of biscuits which she presses into each of their palms, the heat of them sinking into their skin but never burning.

"Now get, I got things to take care of."

"Of course! Thank you again Alys!"

And with that Ostara drags Stannis out of the kitchens, down the corridor, and to a window with a ledge they can sit upon.

Without thought she bites into her biscuit, moaning as it practically melts in her mouth. Beside her Stannis picks his apart into equal amounts and eats each piece with all of the poise he always eats with. Ostara watches him for a moment before smiling.

"Good isn't it?"

"It is acceptable."

Ostara rolls her eyes, sometimes Stannis can be such a little shithead.

~X~

The tourney grounds are full of tents and people and squires rushing about to perform their duties. Ostara watches it all with a critical eye and makes sure not to get in anyone's way. Stannis and Robert love it, even if her twin refuses to show it Ostara can tell. They love the colors and the knights and the chaos of it. Ostara thinks she could enjoy it too if she were so inclined.

But the truth of it is that Ostara has never taken a particular interest in the jousts or, gods forbid, the melee.

Perhaps if there were dancing Ostara would like it better, or maybe if she didn't have to watch every single knight participate, but there's no real opportunities to dance and neither her parents nor Robert would ever let her just not attend the tourney.

It's not that Ostara hates the tourneys, she doesn't, it's just that she doesn't understand why grown men want to knock each other off of horses or beat them near to bloody in the melee... Actually. She gets it. Men are idiots. Why wouldn't they want to do all of those things and more if given the opportunity?

Sighing, Ostara side steps a boy in a green tunic and slowly separates from her family to wonder off on her own to look around. Because there's no sense in staying with Robert and her parents when literally no one here is going to try and hurt her. Even if they did Ostara isn't worried about it. There are enough men here loyal to her father that any attack on her would be met with the full force of Stormlander brutality.

 _Beside_ , Ostara thinks as she weaves between tents and people, _it's good to introduce yourself to the people you rule... Even if you'll never actually be their ruler_.

And it's not a matter of sexism either. Robert is the oldest of her siblings and incredibly healthy, he might be a bit reckless but Ostara thinks he'll live well into his Lordship if he takes care of himself, and if he doesn't then Stannis will take his place as Lord of Storm's End. If Stannis dies, and Ostara hopes that never happens, then it will be her turn to lay claim to Storm's End... Not that she wants to really.

Ostara steps out of the way of a man in a deep forest colored doublet with a black raven sewn into the breast. She smiles at the man from House Morrigen before stepping off into a conveniently located alley made between two rather large tents where she practically immediately knocks into another person. The force of the collision sends her sprawling and she can hear the person she ran into suck in a startled breath.

"Watch were you're going!" The girl Ostara knocked into grumbles, causing a small smile to slip across Ostara's face as she rolls to stand and makes her way over to help the girl to her feet.

And when the surprisingly tall blonde haired, blue eyed girl who can't be more then a year younger then Ostara sees the young witch her eyes go wide with shock as her sick flushes red.

"What's your name?" Ostara asks, offering a hand.

Taking it and allowing Ostara to pull her to her feet she replies with a soft, "Brienne of Tarth."

"Well," Ostara says as she steps back, "Brienne of Tarth, would you like to accompany me through the tourney grounds?"

"I... Yes."

Ostara smiles brightly at the younger girl and decides right then that the two of them are going to be friends. She likes Brienne. The blonde is nothing like Alysanne had been and it's nice to meet another girl with goals that aren't seen as socially acceptable. Because the people of Westeros don't tend to encourage the idea of women becoming leaders let alone knights, which is exactly what Brienne of Tarth wishes to be. Even if she doesn't quite realize it yet she talks about wanting to learn the sword and Barristan Selmy more then enough for Ostara to make an educated guess.


	13. Dreams and Blood Stains

"I just don't understand the appeal." Ostara remarks as she and Brienne watch as men from all across the Stormlands knock each other from their saddles.

Three lances have already been broken and a man's injured his shoulder. Possibly dislocated it. He'd pretended like it wasn't an issue, laughing and waving to the crowd as he'd hobbled over to the maester. He'd been red faced though, and the knuckles of his fist had been white. Ostara doubts he'll be participating in the melee tomorrow.

Beside her Brienne of Tarth shrugs, "I like watching them get knocked off."

Ostara smiles at the other girl and shakes her head before turning her attention back to the joust, hand shifting to glide over Rubeus' head, which is lying heavy in her lap. The shadowcat rumbles, the woman sitting beside them goes deathly pale when she hears it and Ostara wonders if she'll faints. She hopes not. It had been difficult enough convincing her mother that Rubeus wouldn't be a problem.

And he's not really the problem. If the woman faints that's completely on her in Ostara's most humble opinion.

Sighing, the young witch glances to where her brothers are sitting beside their father. Robert looks overjoyed to be here, watching the tourney and cheering on his so chosen favorites, while Stannis looks interested but not nearly as interested as their brother. Ostara isn't sure whether to be amused by that or not. She does feel a little bad for abandoning him to endure their brother's company but, well, Ostara likes Brienne and she needs more friends.

"It's amusing, I'll give you that."

"Will you attend the melee?" Brienne asks, blue eyes focused on the man rolling in the dirt.

"Yes, mother won't let me not come seeing as it's Robert's name's day celebration. I'll be terribly bored though."

Brienne clears her throat, fingers curling around the edge of her tunic. Blue silk with silver fish embroidered into the hems. It's well made and fits her nicely, the color does absolute wonders to her eyes.

"You could always sit with my family and me." She offers, never once turning to look at Ostara, which makes the other girl's blood boil.

Brienne's a sweet girl, smart, she's got a dry sense of humor that had shocked Ostara the first time she'd heard it, but she's also very shy and hesitant around Ostara which leads the curly haired girl to question whether her hesitation stems from the fact that she doesn't get the chance to make new friends often or the fact that she's possibly bullied for her differences by her peers on Tarth.

She suspects the latter.

"I'd love to sit with you and your family at the melee." Ostara says, the smile she receives is a bit shy but lovely all the same.

Silence falls between them, not the awkward kind, something peaceful. It's nice not having to fill the space with idle conversation, Ostara likes that she doesn't have to worry about ensuring she keeps Brienne entertained every three seconds. Being able to watch the joust without having to split her attention between a conversation she hates and a sport she hates slightly less is _nice_.

Ostara brushes her hair over her shoulder, thanks the gods for cooling charms, and continues to watch as men get smacked off of their horses.

After a while she begins to see the appeal of it.

Watching the men fall is more amusing then Ostara had expected it to be. So long as no one gets truly hurt that is. The man who'd hurt his shoulder had not been amusing to watch. Ostara has never had a dislocated body part herself but she's had other injuries and so she can imagine the man is in quite a bit of pain... But everyone else is amusing.

By the end of it a knight from house Morrigen is the only man not to be unsaddled. He wins a bag of gold and a chaste kiss on the cheek from Lady Cassana, which only serves to horrify Stannis which makes Ostara snort. When the knight finally ambles off and the audience begins to chatter Ostara rises from her seat and rolls her neck, cringing at the resulting pop.

When she turns to Brienne the blonde is starring at her in disgusted horror which only makes Ostara snort.

"If you think that was awful," she says to the other girl, "you should hear Robert crack his knuckles."

"I'd rather not."

"You probably will one day, he's not shy about it." Ostara says with a shrug.

Brienne looks more then a bit horrified but hardly surprised.

 _Perceptive_ , Ostara thinks as she brushes down her skirt, _good_.

It's good to be perceptive in a place like this. A place where people will cut your throat as soon as smile at you. The problem is most people who are perceptive don't tend to apply what they've learned in ways that won't get them killed. Ostara licks her bottom lip as she tucks some hair behind her ear. She hopes Brienne isn't foolish in her perceptiveness.

Truthfully, It's too early to tell.

~X~

Dinner that evening is full of Robert boasting about Ser Morrigan's win and claiming that he will be a better knight then even the Lord of Crow's Nest. Ostara doesn't doubt he will be. Robert may be prone to rash decisions but he's not an idiot and he's certainly not one to shy from a challenge.

If he says he'll be a better knight then even Barristan Selmy then he will be a better knight then Ser Selmy.

She picks at her dinner and listens to her brother's jabbering with half an ear as she goes about thinking of the best time to visit the Vaelmaereon keep. It's possible she'll be woken early for tomorrow's melee so it would probably be best to go as soon as it's time for bed, check on her eggs and the plants that had somehow taken root in the ash (likely because He did something while transporting her seedlings to Valyria), and return early enough that she can get some rest before tomorrow morning.

"Ostara? Are you listening?"

"Hm?"

A dark eyebrow raises as her mother levels her with a look. "I asked after your friend. Brienne of Tarth."

"Oh... What of her?"

"Will she be attending the melee tomorrow?"

"Yes, she's invited me to sit with her family. I told her I'd be very happy to do so."

Robert nudges her with his elbow, eyes wide as saucers, and asks, "The girl you were sitting with today? That is Brienne?"

"Yes, Robert," Ostara rolls her eyes. "I introduced you before the joust."

"Oh...Right."

Ostara rolls her eyes, not at all interested in starting an argument with her brother when she's really not all that surprised that he'd forgotten in the first place. Smart as her brother may be his priorities revolve around tourneys, knights, and becoming a great Lord. He might take interest in Ostara's friends but it's more of a passing interest then anything else.

Besides, Robert won't be here long after the tourney ends. A few days perhaps, then he'll be heading off for the Eyrie and Ostara won't see him again for several more weeks, possibly even months. Starting fights just isn't worth the time nor the energy. So instead Ostara decides to talk to him about the joust and the melee, Robert practically beams with his joy and promises, in a hushed whisper so that their parents don't hear, to teach her how to properly hold a shield.

Apparently it's what Jon Arryn is teaching Robert and Eddard Stark at the moment. Technique. Daevyn Sand hasn't gotten her around to using a shield and so Ostara smiles delightedly and nods as she reaches beneath the table to stroke the top of Rubeus' head. The shadowcat wedges his head between Ostara's legs and the table, effectively crushing her fingers for a good three seconds before she manages to yank her hand out of the minuscule gap.

She stretches out her fingers to ease the ache and glares at the thrice damned cat even as his eyes go impossibly large.

He's begging.

Ostara chooses to ignore it, because he doesn't _need_ any of the food on her plate and she can't actually sneak him anything at the moment. But Robert's hand flashes in the corner of her eye along with a large slice of fatty meat, he flings the meat onto her thigh and smiles widely when Rubeus' tongue darts out to take the meat from where it rests on Ostara's dress.

Shooting her brother the fieriest glare she has Ostara discretely moves to slap the back of her hand against his middle. If they weren't at the table and if their parents weren't around Ostara would do a lot worse. Because she likes this dress and now she's going to have to deal with the grease stain before the maids get their hands on it.

 _Kick him_ , Ostara mouths at Stannis when she catches his eye.

He furrows his brow at her, glances at their parents, then points very briefly at Robert.

 _Yes_ , Ostara growls under her breath, _him_.

A soft thump and Robert's surprised cough tells Ostara that her message was not only received but very happily accepted.

"Are you alright, Robert?" Their mother asks, voice honey sweet with her concern.

Ostara and Stannis ignore the look their father is giving the two of them and continue to pick at their meal. It's not like Steffon can prove they did anything.

"I'm fine."

"Honestly Robert, you need smaller portions cut. You'll choke on of these days." Cassana reprimands.

It's not a lie. Robert does have a tendency to cut his meat into larger chunks then they really need to be but it's not really his fault? Ostara doesn't think he'd actually choke on his roasted quail but she understands why their mother would be concerned. One of the leading causes of death (outside of poor sanitary conditions, illness, and the not so occasional stabbing) just so happens to be choking.

And it's not like the Heimlich maneuver is commonly practiced. Hell, sticking your fingers down someone's throat to pull out the blockage would be more effective then just sitting and watching someone choke to death.

"I wasn't choking." Robert grumbles, eyes flickering in Ostara's direction.

She smiles ever so sweetly at him, glad he isn't directing his irritation at Stannis, and says, "I'm glad you're alright, Robert, truly."

Instead of replying, instead of reacting, Robert merely rolls his eyes and returns to telling the table about how excited he is about tomorrow's melee and how one day he hopes his friend Ned will come to visit Storm's End to see one as the North don't typically participate in tourneys. If he cuts his meat into smaller slices no one says a word about it.

~X~

Ostara dreams of a woman with dark eyes, pinprick pupils surrounded by a thin line of gold that bleeds into the near black of her iris, and hair that tumbles like finely spun silk over her shoulders.

A vague spike of recognition sparks in her brain but it's quickly drowned out by love, yearning, sorrow.

So much sorrow.

The woman smiles a pretty dimpled grin as she runs her fingers through Ostara's hair, short hair that is hers but isn't, and then lips are pressing softly against her own which only makes the sorrow in her chest spike painfully.

Ostara doesn't understand why she is so sad, why she curls her arms around the woman and pulls her closer, why she buries her face in the woman's neck and cries as the woman kisses Ostara's temple and whispers that everything will be alright, she understands, this is how it must be.

 _To survive the long night sacrifices must be made_ , the woman whispers into Ostara's ear, so softly that Ostara's barely hears.

Moving as if on strings, Ostara pulls away from the woman and with hands too big and too broad and too calloused to be her own Ostara moves to brush dark hair out of the other woman's face. And for a moment there is only her and the woman and eyes that shine like burning coals in the darkness that is slowly creeping into Ostara's dream.

Then the woman opens her mouth and Ostara expects her to say something. Instead there's an scream that toes the line between pain and pleasure and the woman's blood bubbles up to spew from her mouth like molten rock.

Ostara jerks back, startled, when the magma dribbles onto her hands.

When she looks back the woman is gone, and in her place, a dragon with scales of red-gold and a series of wickedly sharp horns crowning it's head.

~X~

"You look exhausted." Robert remarks the next morning, tugging at a curl that has sprung free from the braid Ostara had put it in that morning.

"Not all of us can be morning people, Robert." She retorts as she slides into her seat.

Stannis raises an eyebrow at her, a question clear in his eyes, she merely shakes her head in response and ladles porridge into a bowl which she then mixes with a bit of brown sugar and honey. Once her concoction is all made up Ostara begins pulling bacon and eggs onto her breakfast plate. It's silent as the three children go about their typical morning routine.

Robert takes perhaps too much bacon and too many eggs, Stannis takes his porridge plane and his toast buttered to nearly sickening degrees, and if her parents were there to join them for breakfast the young witch is sure Steffon and Cassana Baratheon would both split the leftover eggs between them before choosing their bacon or sausage.

Unfortunately, neither Steffon nor Cassana will be attending breakfast as they've both got such busy schedules. Apparently the Lord and Lady of Storm's End have much to do in order to make sure the melee runs smoothly today. Ostara doesn't envy them one bit, not really. She'd much rather eat her breakfast and run off to find Brienne.

"Stannis, will you coming with me today? Seeing as Ostara's got a new friend to play with?" Robert asks causing Stannis to blink at him before nodding slowly.

"I suppose I will, yes." Stannis says.

And Ostara reaches across the table to nudge her brother's hand with her spoon, clean. She hasn't stuck it in her mouth or her porridge yet. Which is probably the only reason Stannis hasn't tried to completely bite her head off about it.

"You'll have fun, I promise." She tells her twin and rolls her eyes when he merely stares at her.

Thankfully Robert doesn't seem too hurt by Stannis' disinterest in him. Opting instead to throw his arm around Ostara's shoulders, pull her back against his side, and ruffle her hair which makes her cry out in indignation and beat uselessly at his hand. When he finally releases her Ostara's hair is a mess of curls halfway out of her braid and bouncing around her head.

She shoots Robert a glare, Robert just smiles at her and takes a bite of bacon.

"You're such a prick, Robert." Ostara mutters under her breath, already attempting to fix the damage he's brought upon her head.

"Ostara!" His faux shock isn't endearing him to her any, "You can't say things like that, you're a Lady."

"I can say whatever the hell I want." Ostara retorts almost angrily.

Robert's barely concealed laughter eases her anger a bit but not enough for her to find humor in the situation. It took her an hour to do her hair this morning, a bloody hour! Southern styles are as beautiful as they are intricate and even though Ostara hadn't gone to such extreme lengths as her mother might have she'd still taken quite a bit of time to style her hair.

She'd really been very proud of it and the fact that Robert has just ruined all of her hard work without a single remorseful thought makes her blood boil.

"Mother will have your mouth washed if she hears you saying that." Stannis remarks.

"Mother's said worse then I have, Stannis, don't for a second think she hasn't."

The older twin shrugs absently before turning his attention back to his food. Ostara and Robert follow his lead, digging into their food with a bit more gusto then necessary. It's forgivable, considering the fact that Robert and Stannis wish to be free of the confines of Storm's End while Ostara merely wishes to visit with a friend. By the time the three of them have finished their breakfast they've no interest in lingering.

Ostara kisses both Robert and Stannis upon the cheek before calling for Rubeus to follow after her as she makes her way toward the tourney grounds.

~X~

"It's hot." Brienne remarks as she and Ostara lounge in the shade provided by the awning over their heads.

Ostara nods.

There's only so much she can do with charms before people begin noticing that she's not sweating, or slightly red in the face at the very least. So she keeps herself cool enough to not be as uncomfortable as the people around her but not so cool as to not sweat.

It's moments like this that Ostara truly misses deodorant.

"I feel sorry for the knights." She says, eyeing the two knights fighting in the middle of the arena set up for the tourney.

"They'll be alright," Brienne remarks, "they've trained for this."

"I suppose they have, haven't they?"

Brienne's eyes glitter as she watches the two men dance around one another, careful not to fall prey to the other knight. It's a rather elaborate dance and something in Ostara grows bitter. War should not be considered a game and that's essentially what tourneys are. War games. Ostara hates that young knights who've never seen death or war take such pleasure in these games.

It's different with the older knights. They've seen blood, smelt rotting bodies, gone months without a proper bed to sleep in.

Ostara turns her head to smile at Brienne and says, "Perhaps one day you'll be out there? I suspect you'd be the one of the better fighters."

Red stains Brienne's cheeks and the girl offers a shy smile.

"Perhaps."

Leaning back against the back of the chair she'd been offered earlier that morning, Ostara moves to gather up her hair and ball it up at the top of her head. She shoves her wand into it, carefully casting a sticking charm to make the magical object appear as nothing more then a hair stick that won't run the risk of letting her hair slip out of place or falling from her hair.

She'd pulled her braid out earlier before meeting with Lord and Lady Tarth and she hadn't attempted to do anything with the wild, frizzing mass until now.

With it up off of her neck Ostara can feel a gentle summer breeze cool the sweat beading on the nape of her neck.

Slowly, the hours pass.

More and more knights come to fight and when the final knights make their way into the arena Ostara finds herself mildly interested but not overly so. She pays them half a mind, and only because Brienne seems so thrilled with everything going on. She's trying to support her new friend's interest but... It's difficult. Because everything is so damn repetat- a scream, a spray of red, Lady Tarth collapsing as the knight from a smaller Stormland house crumples.

"Bloody hell." Ostara mutters, eyes wide, as Maester Cressen rushes out into the middle of the arena to tend to the man.

But there's nothing he can do for the poor knight who was too confident in his own abilities. Because hovering beside Cressen is a man shrouded in black mist and silence.

 _Do not worry, sweet eyed warrior,_ Phil's voice drifts over the screaming and the whispering and the sounds of women crying, _I shall care for him_.

"That was awful." Brienne says after the knight has been drug off to be tended too by the Silent Sisters.

"Yes," Ostara agrees. "it was."

She didn't know him, hadn't heard of him before today, but she finds the senseless violence disgusting. But there's nothing she can do now so instead of weeping or gossiping or fainting, Gods forbid, Ostara merely sits and watches as the knight's body is practically thrown into a cart which will be brought to the nearest Sept to be tended to.

It's sad, it's horrible, but it's life.

People live, people die, and Ostara knows this perhaps better then anyone. She does, after all, have lifetimes worth of experience.


	14. Oh Brother, My Brother

When Ostara is eight her moth announces her pregnancy. She tells them over dinner, beaming and smiling and promising them a little brother. Ostara thinks it's bold of her to assume the baby's going to be a boy but decides not to comment on it. Instead she congratulates her parents and admits that she's excited to have another sibling.

A small part of her hopes there's another girl in the family, a little sister for Ostara to dote on and teach.

Stannis on the hand seems more put out then anything. Probably because he's already got a brother and a sister to deal with and another one would just add more chaos into his life.

Ostara smiles as she bites into her biscuit.

The rest of the morning is filled with happy conversation about the baby and how excited everyone is. Her mother suggests they write to the King before news of the pregnancy is brought to him by someone else. Ostara thinks it's an idea, she can't say whether or not it's a good idea or a bad one though. Because rumor is the King has become suspicious of his wife, blaming her stillbirths and miscarriages on infidelity.

It's just rumors so far though and Aerys hasn't done anything publicly.

Ostara rolls her shoulders and excuses herself from the table, kissing her mother's cheek as she makes her way to the door. She has better things to do then contemplate the idiocy of the world she's been born into. Things like tend to her dragon eggs and finish up some of her projects. Potions she's been working on and magical books she'd managed to salvage from the Vaelmaereon library.

The trip to her room is a short one and after a quick pause to cast a few warding spells Ostara pulls open her wardrobe door. She allows her familiar to enter and exit before her, casting a glance around the room before slipping in after her friend.

Heat washes over Ostara as she steps out into Renaehra's room.

She doesn't pay it any mind as she closes the wardrobe door and makes her way through the repaired room.

In the months since finding her way here Ostara has rebuilt much of the keep. There are certain rooms that Ostara has put off repairing because she very rarely uses them and aside from a quick clean and the occasional spell to help keep the room from becoming a safety hazard Ostara has left them alone. They're mostly guest rooms and sitting rooms. None of which Ostara really needs to deal with at the moment.

Her potions lab on the other hand? Ostara spends a good portion of her time there. She's repaired nearly all of the damage done to it over the years, filled the store room with dried herbs from the little garden of plants she'd stumbled across one morning, and has even turned one of the rooms attached to the main room into a sitting room of sorts, with transfigured furniture carefully arranged to look a bit like the common room Hermione spent so much of her time in.

Stepping into the lab, Ostara smiles and makes her way across the room to the fire pit where her eggs are waiting.

"Good morning lovlies," She greets as she reaches down to brush her fingertips over the shells. "How are you this morning?"

Contentment danced through her, a soft sort of joy, a feeling she always got when she came to visit and speak with the eggs incubating in the pit.

It had confused her at first. Being able to sense the emotions of the little dragons developing in their eggs hadn't been something Ostara had thought possible. Not even the Targaryens had been able to do such a thing, not that she knew of anyway. Research hadn't much helped as there weren't many books Ostara could get her hands on that pertained to the dragons from Hermione's world.

Eventually she'd had to accept that it must be due to the dragon's magic and her own in addition to whatever biological factors the dragons had.

"I hope that whenever you hatch you don't try to bite my face off." Ostara mutters, vaguely worried that due to her not being an actual dragon that the hatchlings might actually try it.

Indignation flashes hot in her breast. Sever little voices echoing in her mind soon after, faint like a whisper.

 _Never_ , they seem to say, _never_.

"Well, it's good to know I'm safe at the very least."

She just hopes none of the little eggs hatch to be a Peruvian Vipertooth... Ostara's in no way mentally prepared to handle whatever mess that would cause.

Rising up from her kneeling position next to the pit Ostara rolls her shoulders before turning and making her way over to the cauldron simmering over a low flame. The contents within heated to a rolling boil of pink-hued liquid.

It's her first experimental potion. She's hoping that it'll be similar to a pesticide when it's done. Seeing as this world doesn't have many of those and Ostara has a pretty healthy stock of medical potions... Well, her main concern right now is getting her secondary home to a point where it can be self sufficient. Having healthy plant produce is crucial to that.

Ostara vanishes the bluebell flames beneath the cauldron and once the mixture has calmed a bit she begins stirring. It takes twenty stirs for the mixture to begin turning a milky blue, a lighter shade then any of her earlier attempts which had turned shades between a blueberry and deep navy. They hadn't worked, well they had actually, if you consider killing the plants Ostara had tested them on as 'working'.

She waits for the mixture to cool before ladling the mixture into a series of phials.

"Well," she says as she looks to Rubeus who's curled up a few feet away from the fire pit, "I think this is the batch."

Rubeus just yawns in her direction before curling into an even tighter ball so he can go about ignoring her. Ostara shakes her head as she moves the phials to a rack where they'll sit overnight to make sure they've cooled down entirely. She'll test them out tomorrow. Right now she needs to go about cleaning up her area and get back to Storm's End so she can get some sleep.

~X~

"A letter for you, Ostara." Maester Cressen says, holding out a letter sealed with crimson wax.

It's from King's Landing, likely from Rhaegar.

Ostara takes the letter from the older man and taps the corner against her palm as she debates whether or not to open it here. She hasn't heard from Rhaegar in a few weeks and if she's being honest Ostara finds herself missing his presence in her life. It's not often that Ostara can have intellectual conversations with people who aren't either entertaining her or tolerating her because she's a Lord's daughter.

Talking to her family or Cerys or Cressen is different because she sees them every day. They know almost every aspect of her life and so it's nice to be able to talk to people outside of her home.

But then, the letter's likely going to be centered around congratulating her mother's pregnancy and Ostara isn't sure how riveting that conversation's going to end up being.

"Thank you Maester Cressen," Ostara says as she tucks the letter between the cover of her book and the first page.

She offers the man a smile before turning and making her way toward her chambers so she can read Rhaegar's letter and respond accordingly. The soft ache of he thighs ignored for the moment. Daevyn Sand has gotten it into his head that running every morning before dawn is a phenomenal idea. Ostara hates it, she's not a runner.

So she spent the first few hours of her day huffing and puffing as she followed behind Daevyn as he ran the parapets of Storm's End.

What she'd really like right about now is a bath but she needs to get her studies out of the way so she can go back to Valyria and test her pesticide. Doing it as soon as possible would be best seeing as there's going to be a celebratory feast tonight to honor Cassana Baratheon's pregnancy which means Ostara will be expected to stay and participate in the festivities.

Closing the door to her chambers Ostara makes her way over to the writing desk and takes a seat. She pulls out Rhaegar's letter only after she's placed her books to the side and has pulled out her inkwell, the quill she places right beside it is from one of Maester Cressen's ravens.

She breaks the seal on the letter and takes a moment to read.

Rhaegar had always called her Lady Ostara in his earlier letters so it comes as a bit of a surprised to see nothing but a simple _Ostara_ written at the top corner of the page. But as odd as it is Ostara doesn't think it's inappropriate. They're friends after all and these letters are private. No one would dare to open Rhaegar's letter but if someone had Ostara would know.

Deciding not to think about it too much Ostara continues reading.

She'd been right for the most part. Rhaegar was writing to congratulate her on her mother's pregnancy and to say something about the good fortune of House Baratheon. Ostara skims that part of the letter as it doesn't interest her all that much and focuses more on the second half in which Rhaegar apologizes for not having written in so long and inquires after her well being.

The resulting four page later Ostara writes in response is quick to address Rhaegar's congratulations before delving into the happenings of the past few weeks. She leaves out the magic bit but tells about her studies and the books she's read and by the end of her letter Ostara's fingers are cramping and her wrist aches but it feels good to talk to someone that isn't her parents or her brother or her friends.

Black wax seals the letter and Ostara smiles as she sets it off to the side to be delivered to King's Landing.

~X~

The pesticide ends up killing the little potted plant Ostara's used to test her potion. It's one of many she's pulled from the garden of Storm's End and while it had been dying before she'd brought it to Valyria it's disappointing to see the little plant turn brown and brittle.

Sighing, Ostara marks down the results of the potion in her log book before vanishing the potion.

Maybe she needs to supplement a new ingredient? She's tried experimenting with the heat and the amount of times she's stirred it or left it but she's stuck to familiar ingredients for the most part. Maybe if she uses Flobberworm mucus? It'll thicken the potion up and while Ostara isn't sure that's an issue it would never hurt to try. It's not like she can't handle any possible mishaps.

"Well," she tells the dragons in the fire pit after cleaning her station, "that was disappointing."

There's a sense of uncertain amusement which makes Ostara smile and shake her head. Without much thought Ostara reaches out to rearrange the dragons to ensure they're all getting the same amount of heat. The physical contact seems to please the dragons developing in their eggs and so Ostara makes a mental note to set more time aside for such things as it might help with their development.

~X~

When Renly is born Ostara is nine years old and absolutely in love with the little screaming bundle in her mother's arms. He's small and squishy and his eyes are that unsettled blue-grey that'll probably settle into the bright blue of the Baratheon line.

Ostara adores him.

She makes that pretty clear.

Transfiguring stones into little trinkets to decorate the nursery where Ostara and Stannis had spent the first four years of their life. She reads him books, talking in a clear voice so that he can hear her, and she spends as much time with him between her lessons and self-proclaimed duties as possible. Her parents think it's adorable.

But the two of them are still siblings and Ostara sometimes finds herself growing annoyed with the little boy.

Like today, Renly's been crying for quite some time now and no matter what they do he won't stop. Ostara understands that he doesn't have any other way of communicating with them, that he probably doesn't feel well, that there are hundreds of factors playing into this situation and that she shouldn't be too annoyed but... She hasn't had any sleep and Daevyn hadn't been easy on her during their lessons.

She's exhausted and sore and a little irritated seeing as she's getting closer to perfecting her pesticide but it's taking so much time.

"What do you want?" Ostara asks as she moves to stand over Renly.

Instead of answering the babe sputters and wails and his little face goes red, red, red.

Something in her chest eases and the irritation dies just as fast.

Without much thought Ostara reaches into the crib and pulls Renly out, cradling him in her arms as she makes her way over to the rocking chair in the corner of the room. The wet nurse will be back soon, she'd gone to get Cressen after Ostara had offered to sit with the babe, and she's glad for the solitude.

She curls up on the chair, careful of Renly's little head, and uses one foot to rock the chair back and forth as she talks to Renly. She tells him about magic and wonder and a boy with a lightning bolt scar. Eventually Renly falls asleep, the heat of his body causing Ostara's arm to sweat, but she doesn't move.

That's how their mother finds them moments later with Maester Cressen and the wet nurse in tow. A nine year old girl in a lavender dress curled up in an overly large wooden chair with a babe held carefully in her arms.

Cassana smiles as she scoops Renly out of Ostara's arms and shoos her off to go about her own business after placing a chaste kiss to her forehead. Maester cressen and the wet nurse merely smile.

~X~

"Did you hear? Queen Rhaella is pregnant." Cerys says one night after the two have curled up on Ostara's bed.

"How do you know that?" Ostara wonders, never looking up from the book spread across her lap.

"My mother overheard the Cook talking about it."

This time Ostara does look up, "And how does he know?"

"Maybe he overheard someone else talking about it?"

"Well," Ostara says, "I'm happy for her."

And Ostara is happy for Rhaella. The woman deserves any happiness she can get... Especially after everything that's happened with Aerys over the past few months. But there's a part of Ostara that wonders what will happen if the babe's a girl.

Surely the King would be happy seeing as there's no sister-wife for Rhaegar.

And that's the problem.

Rhaegar had hinted at the idea being abhorrent when she'd written to him last. Ostara assumes he'd been hesitant to say anything outright against the concept of incest for a number of reasons, one being that he's literally the product of it and to a certain extent there's probably some gratefulness, and then there's the fact that he might be worried someone's attempting to read his letters.

Either way Ostara thinks that Rhaegar finds a fair bit of disgust with the idea of marrying and bedding his sister.

"Do you think it will survive?" Cerys asks.

"There's always a chance."

"I hope it lives."

Ostara turns her head to smile at the other girl and nods. "Me too." She says.

Several moments pass before Cerys speaks again.

"Do you think Addam is attractive?"

"Addam Storm? The scullery maid's son? That Addam?"

"Yes, do you think he's attractive?" Cerys asks, eyes wide.

"No," Ostara intones. "I think he's an absorbed prick."

Beside her Cerys laughs and it's a soft thing that seems to fill the space around them.

"He's not so bad."

"Cerys, I love you and I support you but what in the Seven Hells do you see in him?" Ostara demands.

Because Addam Storm is an entitled little prick. A womanizing toe-rag. The less Ostara has to bother with him the better.

"I think he's attractive is all... And I think he'd sire some very precious babes."

"First of all, you don't need to be thinking of babes right now alright? Second, if you can wait a few years I'll find you an even more attractive husband, one that won't find comfort in another woman's bed."

And Cerys giggles as she leans over to press a chaste kiss to Ostara's cheek.

"Sometimes," the older girl says as she pulls back, "I forget you're only nine. You speak as adults do."

"Fortunately for me I speak as adults do too." Ostara remarks blandly, turning her attention back to her book.

She ignores the amused chortling beside her in favor of purging the image of Cerys and Addam (and their children) from her mind.

~X~

Ostara dreams of rotting bodies, of twisted faces and haunted eyes. She dreams of a tall, gaunt creature with milk white skin- paler even, than the Queen's- and eyes so blue and so cold they burn, burn, burn.

It is not a pleasant dream.

Beautiful, in a way. With a world made of snow and ice with little cities of tents, the bond fires built by the people living there glowing fiercely against the stark blackness of the night sky. Yes, beautiful. But even beauty cannot distract from the wretchedness that Ostara finds herself witnessing.

Men and women and children being cut down and slaughtered by the dead, mangled creatures that charged across the barren snow covered ground in front of them, clearing a path for the gaunt, white skinned creatures lingering behind the hoard of dead things.

Ostara watches, eyes wide and filled with horror, as the men and women that are cut down twitch and scream and grow very, very quiet before slowly rising to join the creatures that slaughtered them.

 _Almost like Inferi,_ Hermione would say.

It's not a pleasant thought, because Hermione had dealt with Inferi before, she'd seen what those poor, twisted souls were capable of. And this? This is much, much worse. Because at least Ostara understands the Infiri, she understands their motives. But do these creatures have motivations? Are they forced to tear children apart and slaughter entire families? Or do they enjoy this? Do they like hurting these people?

Ostara watches as the little tents burn, an orange haze coloring the sky as the stench of roasting flesh makes her eyes water.

And then there is something gripping her shoulder, bony fingers clamping tight, the chill of rotting flesh seeping through her clothing. Whoever has grabbed her collapses, its grip firm enough to drag her down alongside, and she feels something hot unfurl in her stomach, a flower made of sunlight and solar flame blooming in her chest cavity.

Ostara reaches back and shoves her hand against the ice cold flesh of the creature's head.

The creature, freshly killed, looms over her mouth opened wide to display red soaked teeth. It attempts to wrap its hand around her throat, attempts to dig its finger nails in until the skin breaks enough for the creature to dig his fingers into the wound, hook his fingers, and pull. Ostara doesn't give it the chance.

~X~

Ostara wakes to the uncomfortable feeling of blood soaked nightclothes clinging to her thighs. She groans, careful not to wake the sleeping beast on the bed beside her as she reaches for the wand resting on the bedside table. The blood is gone in seconds, cleaned away by a spell Hermione Granger had learned from a seventh year Huffelpuff when she's accidentally bled through her hygiene product in her second year.

She'll have to tell her mother about this.

There's no small amount of annoyance though. Because Ostara is nearing eleven years old and she's already been through puberty once, twice now that she's been born again, and it's not an experience she _wants_ to relive. But she thinks that things could have been much, much worse. She could have ended up being born a boy... Then she'd have to suffer the unknown.

 _This_ , she decides as she transfigures herself some special linens that will line her small clothes for the time being, _is not so terrible as to warrant anything more than annoyance_.

"Come, Rubeus." Ostara commands, patting her hand against the side of her thigh.

The Shadow Cat glares at her for a moment before rolling over to push himself to his feet.

Once he's settled at Ostara's side the girl pulls open the door, steps out into the corridor, and makes her way toward her parents' chambers. All the while she thinks of what the possible outcomes of her bleeding will be.

She's only ten and not much younger than Hermione Granger had been when she'd first started to bleed. This isn't what worries her. The fact that she is ten means very little in comparison to the fact that she will be considered old enough to be betrothed to some Lord's son.

If Ostara is being honest with herself, it is unlikely that will be happening for some time after. Hopefully there will be enough time for her to finish developing before her father either sends her off to the Capitol to serve as some High Lady's companion in the hopes that someone will send a raven to inquire after her hand, or begins accepting ravens from Lords around the whole of Westeros.

By then Ostara will be well into her fourteenth summer but even then it will be a year or so before her father tries to marry her off.

Ostara rolls her eyes. She's never, ever going to just roll over and let her father dictate her life like that. Steffon Baratheon may be a lord but he isn't her master. She'll listen to him, she'll agree to at the very least meet the men, but in the end it'll be her decision on whether or not she wants to continue with a courtship or no.

If he doesn't like it that's entirely on him.

Reaching the door leading to her parents' solar Ostara smooths out her skirt before knocking on the door. It takes a mere two minutes before the door slides open to reveal a tired eyed Cassana Baratheon.

"Ostara, darling girl, are you unwell?" Her mother asks, bending slightly to run her fingers through wild curls.

"I've begun my first womanly cycle." Ostara replies, fingers twisting in the fabric of her skirt.

"Oh, I see... Come in, there's no use staying out in the corridor."

As her mother moves away Ostara steps into the solar, Rubeus at her heels, and quickly makes her way over to the chair near the fireplace. It's her mother's chair, her favorite to be precise. She tends to sit and embroider there when she has the time.

Ostara runs the pad of her finger over the arm of the chair, feeling the raised edges of fine embroidery, and waits for her mother to begin speaking.

"Are you feeling unwell, Ostara?" Her mother asks. "If so I can call upon Maester Kollion."

"I suffer no discomforts."

"I'm glad to hear it... You've spoken to the Septa about this, yes? About what is happening?"

"Yes, apparently I am a woman now. I will marry and give my husband heirs."

Her mother makes a face but for the most part ignores Ostara's sarcasm.

"Not for some time, pet."

"Then you should tell _that_ to the Septa as she's under the impression that I will wed tomorrow and give my husband a son days later."

"That won't be happening for some time yet." Her mother states.

And she says it so firmly that Ostara is forced to think that behind closed doors her parents have discussed this exact situation. So do they have a plan then? Have they already been discussing possible marriages? It wouldn't surprise Ostara any. Peaces and alliances are built off of marriages in some cultures, Westeros is no different.

Ostara presses her lips together, tries not to frown.

This entire situation is giving her a headache.

"Will everyone know?" Ostara demands almost bitterly.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. You'll be a woman grown soon enough. The fact you've flowered won't remain a secret for long." Cassana reaches out to run the pad of her thumb over Ostara's cheek.

There's a certain look in her eyes that makes Ostara very suspicious.

Unfortunately, Hermione had never studied Legilimens during her life. She'd found the practice barbaric and violating, but she'd also understood the benefits of it. During her life Hermione had studied occlumency instead.

A decision that's benefited her greatly in most situations... But not this one.

"I suppose not..."

"Are you worried about your betrothal Ostara?"

"Yes and no. It is not the betrothal that frightens me."

 _Because I have magic and power beyond recon and no one can hurt me unless I let them... Not this time... Not after everything that's happened._

"Then what?"

"I won't be sold like cattle. Not to anyone. Especially not to someone I don't know or trust... And I will never trust anyone who attempts to exert power over me nor will I respect them."

Her mother laughs a strange-strangled laugh, shakes her head, and says, "Nothing quite so serious will happen as that. You're father would never allow anyone to marry you who wasn't worthy of you. You will be given a proper, suitable match... One that might very well make you happy?"

"Do you believe I'll consent to a match I have no say in, mother?"

Something sad crosses into her mother's gaze.

"There is no true happiness for those like us, Ostara," Her mother frowns as she speaks. "You are the daughter of a great Lord and while you might be happy for a moment... It is the price that must be paid."

"I see."

And she supposes she does. Women in this society are seen as inferior for the most part, weaker, and to many a woman's place is seen as determinable by a man with more power. Perhaps the small folk have more freedom, perhaps they can marry for love. Ostara doesn't know. She thinks that maybe she should start spending more time with the small folk.

Ostara glances at the fire roaring away to her left, barely listening to her mother who is talking about underthings and sex and what will be expected of her now that she is no longer a child. It's all a distant, hazy, background noise.

Because Ostara does not care.

This is nothing new and she will not force herself to sit through another lecture that she's heard so many times before.

~X~

Hundreds of miles away in a temple made of pale stone a woman with russet eyes counts the coin in her purse one more time before slipping the pouch into one of the hidden pockets lining the inside of her robes.

It will take her some time to reach Westeros and even longer to find that who she seeks, and while she has no doubt she can survive the trip on the generosity of those who follow the path of R'hllor there is always the possibility she will be forced to seek shelter and food elsewhere. People are not so willing to tend to those serving the Lord of Light, not when they are seen as a threat to false gods.

Melisandre grits her teeth and glances toward the flame burning in the center of her chambers.

A brief flash of wild eyes and ebony curls and a wicked smile is all she sees before the flame swallows the image up.

It's no matter. Melisandre is already quite familiar with the image of the girl. She has the sharpness of her cheekbones and the tilt of her eyes memorized. It will take time to find the girl but Melisandre already suspects where her Lord of Light's chosen may be.

Smiling to herself Melisandre slips from her chambers and into the darkness of the corridor beyond.


	15. Weep With the Joy of It

"Whatever's going on with you," Stannis says three days later, "you need to get under control."

Ostara twists to glare at the blue eyed boy standing beside her usual table in the library of Storm's End.

"I haven't a clue what you're talking about." Ostara remarks testily.

In all actuality she's completely aware of what Stannis is talking about. The problem is Ostara isn't sure how to manage the issues she's having with her magic right now. Which is why she's basically holed up in the library, tearing through any book she can get her hands on that pertains to Durran Godsgrief and his wife Elenei. There's more she's nearly desperate to learn about but frankly, it's just easier to get the mythology on her ancestors then it is to get intimate records from the Targaryen's or any other mythology she might find useful for her current situation.

Sighing, Ostara slams the book shut just as a streak of bright white rips the sky in half.

"You were saying?" Stannis asks, eyebrow halfway up his fucking forehead.

"I was saying, you need to leave it be." Ostara growls before standing up and prowling off into the stacks, leaving Rubeus and Stannis by the table.

When she returns, more books then her arms can comfortably carry, Ostara finds her twin flipping through one of the books.

"Never took you for the overly religious type."

"I'm not."

Stannis levels her with a look and points to the book, "Really?"

"It's interesting is all."

"Yes, well, none of these of so _interesting_ books are going to have whatever it is you're looking for." Stannis comments.

"And you know this because..."

"I'm your brother, for one, and I spend quite a bit of time here."

This time when Stannis ambles off Ostara drops her books onto the table and follows him. If nothing else he'll have some sort of idea as to what Ostara's looking for, which is frankly better then Ostara's doing at the moment. They pursue the stacks for what feels like hours, Stannis plucking random books off of the shelves and handing them back to Ostara until he decides that the pile in her arms is large enough to keep her occupied.

After that he leaves her be, ambling off to find something else to entertain himself with while Ostara does her research.

~X~

It rains in Valyria too.

The windows of the keep rattle under the force of the winds and the rain beating against the glass. It's not so bad in the lower levels where the sound doesn't seem so consuming, in the kitchens or in the treasury she can pretend the rumble of thunder is farther away then it actually is, but when she's up in her laboratory? Or in Renaehra's room.

There, where she's closer to the clouds, it sounds like she's in the center of the storm.

Why she remains there is a mystery to her, but she does. Curling up on the floor next to the fire pit where her dragons are incubating, reading from one of the older tomes she'd taken from Storm's End. Rubeus lays at her side farther from the pit but close enough to bask in the warmth it offers. Ostara slides her fingers through his fur as she reads.

 _Mother_ , tiny voices whisper in her mind, _you are angry_.

Ostara grits her teeth, hums in affirmation, and is not prepared for the onslaught of rage that seems to fill her body.

Without thought Ostara shifts her book to one hand and shoves her other into the fire, thankful that she'd rolled the sleeves of her tunic up to keep them safe from harm. She could always charm them, she's aware of that, but then she'd have to reapply any magic she'd put into the fabric and that's just not something she wants to put her time into at the moment.

Soft skin brushes over rough scales, the Ukrainian Ironbelly protected calms somewhat, just enough for Ostara to get a brief flash of misplaced anger and a need to protect, defend, kill.

"You'll not be killing anyone... I'm angry with myself."

Confusion, a great deal of it, fills her mind.

"I've come across very little first hand knowledge of magic in this world and what I have come across is rather unhelpful to my current predicament." Ostara admits, fingers brushing over her dragon's shell, as she places the tome to the side.

 _Books, mother?_

There's a curiosity now, confusion too.

Ostara shouldn't be surprised. Dragons cling to precious metals such as gold and jewels. They do not value the knowledge of books, they do not have the capacity to do so... Or, at least, they didn't. Ostara's not sure what these dragon would be capable of.

"Paper with words written on them bound between leather covers. People read them for knowledge and entertainment." Ostara supplies as she rolls to face her eggs.

More confusion, her little dragons don't understand. Not yet, but they will. Tomorrow she'll come with something a bit more entertaining and she'll read to them, teach them. If nothing else it'll encourage bonding between Ostara and the dragons in the fire pit.

~X~

Brienne sends her a letter three days later and asks how she's been, how her studies are going, if anything interesting has happened since the tourney. Apparently, Tarth is rather boring and Ostara gnaws on her lips as she drafts a reply that skirts around her personal issues and instead focuses on what she's learning from her tutors and from Master Sand.

As the ink dries Ostara sifts through the books that have found themselves in her bookshelf.

Most are birthday presents from her family or other lords. Her love for literature has slowly gotten out to the Lords and Ladies living in the Stormlands and many of Ostara's presents from them consist of some book or another. It's nice but Ostara wishes she had books on arithmetic and science, something different from the legends and histories of Westeros.

Rhaegar keeps her entertained for the most part. Occasionally he'll send her books that he's read and found interesting. It's nice.

Ostara never gives them back and she doesn't think the Prince actually expects her too. It's like an unspoken agreement between them. Rhaegar provides the book, Ostara keeps it and sends letters containing her thoughts on what she's read, and together the two of them form something of a book club.

Sighing, Ostara plucks a book of Targaryen history off of the shelf and stuffs it into her satchel.

On her bed Rubeus huffs before stretching and leaping off of the bed to make his way closer to her. Ostara scratches the space behind his ear when he's close enough and pointedly ignores the steady rumble beyond her window.

It's getting better, her control. It's no where near perfect but Ostara's certain she can control it enough to make the storms appear more natural to that which the inhabitants of the Stormlands are used to.

"Are you ready for today's lessons, love?" Ostara asks her shadowcat, who yawns and rumbles and makes his way to the door.

Today Daevyn Sand is taking her out to the godswoods to teach her about stealth, this means that Ostara's going to run through the woods and try to hide from not only her Dornish instructor but her familiar as well.

She needs to remember to take him somewhere he can actually hunt without running the risk of killing anyone's livestock.

Sighing Ostara rises from her seat on the floor, moves over to the wardrobe, tosses her bag inside, and turns to follow Rubeus out into the hall where he paces as he waits for her to shut the door to her chambers.

"Little beastie." Ostara mutters fondly as she makes her way down the corridor, following after the excited shadowcat.

~X~

 _Vanya_ , it's barely a whisper but Ostara pauses in her reading and frowns down at the eggs in the fire pit.

"I beg your pardon?" She inquires, placing the book off to the side so she can lean closer without running the risk of harming her book.

It is, after all, one of her favorites.

 _My name, mother_ , the voice whispers again, _it is Vanya_.

Curiosity officially peaked Ostara reaches into the flames, fingers skimming over different textures, and stops at a large tarnish-silver shell. She plucks it out of the flame, careful not to drop the precious thing and holds it up. If she squints and holds it into the light coming in through the window Ostara can almost see the outline of a little body curled up tight within the egg.

"Your name? Have you named yourself then?"

 _No_ , the voice is vaguely feminine, softer like a whisper but deep all the same, _my name is my name_.

"I don't understand."

Something like annoyance slips across her brain and Ostara grits her teeth against it, having to remind herself that the emotion is not her own.

 _We know our names_ , the voice whispers.

"So it just comes to you? Is that what you're saying"

 _Yes_... This time it's a hesitant answer.

Ostara takes it with a grain of salt and continues with her questioning.

"What about the others? Do they have names?"

 _In time, yes_.

"Are you the oldest then?"

 _Are you, mother?_

"No, I've two older brothers and a younger one as well."

There is silence.

No more whispering, no more emotion, it's like the little dragon has decided all of Ostara's questions aren't worth the energy it takes to answer them and has decided to ignore her instead. With an annoyed huff Ostara places the egg back into the flame, glancing at the other eggs all the while.

She's mildly relieved, not to have to name her dragons. It wouldn't have been difficult necessarily but she thinks that her names would be terribly unoriginal and unfit for a dragon. After all, who names a dragon Ronald? Or Harry? Jean?

Ostara shakes her head.

 _No_ , she thinks as she moves away from the pit, _best I didn't name them at all_.

~X~

Boredom is what drives Ostara away from the Vaelmaereon Keep and into the ash covered land beyond. The bubble-head charm filters the air and another keeps the rain falling around her from soaking through her clothes as she makes her way to the closest keep, wand at the ready should anything unsavory be lingering in the shadows.

Nothing accosts her.

There is nothing left but ruined homes and memories.

Not even ghosts have lingered here.

Ostara pulls her cloak tighter around her and darts up the cracked stairs leading to the grand double doors of another Dragon Lord's home, and she enters without a shred of guilt or apprehension considering the fact that the man or woman who might have stopped her from invading the home is no longer alive. Ostara going through their things is the very least of a dead person's problems in the grand scheme of it all.

Dust and spiderwebs greet her as Ostara slips into the grand entrance hall. Ostara leaves the webs, the spiders are doing more good then harm and it's not like she can't deal with one if it ends up being venomous and gets too close for comfort.

A vague sort of familiarity makes Ostara wonder if Renaehra used to come here often.

It's likely seeing as she was one of the most wealthy daughters in Valyria. If she hadn't been to each of the Dragon Lords' keeps at least once in her life Ostara would have been sorely disappointed in the blonde woman.

Reaching out Ostara curls her fingers around Rubeus' collar and guides him away from the door, one arm raised and a spell lingering at the tip of her tongue. The structural stability of the keep was compromised years ago with the Doom but years of neglect haven't helped it much either. The last thing Ostara wants is to be caught in the middle of a cave in.

Thankfully, there are a few spells that can help reduce the likelihood of that happening and so as she and her familiar make their way first to the library Ostara mutters spells.

She's gotten good at ignoring the bodies she comes across.

She's gotten even better about picking through the books that hold the most value and information. Those books end up in her satchel along with a few others before Ostara decides that a quick search of the keep might prove beneficial. One never knows what they'll find in a treasury or armory.

They're about halfway there when Rubeus spins around and bolts. Disappearing into the shadows of a corridor without so much as a thought to his own safety.

"Rubeus! Wait!" Ostara hisses as she darts into the darkness after him.

The light from her spells casts good enough light that Ostara manages to follow Rubeus' prints in the dirt as they continue down the corridor and around a corner. Ostara grits her teeth, thanking Daevyn for the morning runs as she managed to suck another steady breath in through her nose, and tightens her grip on her wand. By the time she finds Rubeus she's begun to sweat and her breathing is labored but not as bad as she would have thought.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ostara demands as she moves to kneel before Rubeus.

She does not, absolutely does not, acknowledge the fact that he's lead her to a large door made of Valyrian steel which is very obviously locked. Because that would mean she'd have to praise Rubeus for running off and that's something she can't do in good conscious. He might get hurt one day if she just runs off on his own in a place they've never been.

It's different in the Vaelmaereon keep, and at Storm's End, but here? Here Rubeus could end up a shadowcat pancake if he's not careful.

Sighing, Ostara moves to unlock the treasury door.

Just like with the Vaelmaereon treasury the sconces lining the wall burst to life. Gold and jewels and trunks are scattered about and Ostara is careful as she walks through them. She hadn't come to take any of the jewels or gold, she hadn't, but no one else is using them and one day Ostara might have to. So she finds leather pouches near to bursting with gold and silver coin and drops them into her satchel.

Once she's decided there's enough in her satchel to feed a small city Ostara turns on her heel and makes her way toward the door.

~X~

There is so much blood, so much pain, more than Rhaella is used to. It makes her scream, back arching, fingers curling around the sheets covering the birthing bed, eyes clenched tightly shut, teeth gnashing together to keep her whimpers at bay. At the foot of the bed Maestor Pycelle sits between her legs, waiting and ready to catch the babe that will soon be pushed from Rhaella's womb.

Rhaella grinds her teeth, silently praying to the Mother that this babe will be born healthy and strong.

 _Like Rhaegar._

Sweet, solemn Rhaegar who is her only son and the only thing that has kept her sane during her time as Queen. But Rhaegar is a man grown, soon to be knighted and wed, and he has very little need for her. But this babe? If this babe survives Rhaella will have something else to love, truly love. For she has so much love to give and very few to give that love to.

There is a certain type of fondness for the girl who will one day be her good daughter, she adores Rhaegar and will adore any grandchildren he gives Rhaella, but now she will have another child of her own to adore and love and spoil.

The Gods know Aerys certainly won't.

He's never much cared for Rhaegar. Not like he should anyway. There'd been a sort of fondness, pride even, but there had never been love. Rhaella thinks that to some extent Aerys has always felt a bit threatened by Rhaegar. Because sweet, solemn Rhaegar is loved by the common folk and more than a good few of the Southern Lords, he's quiet and brilliant and he is going to be King one day.

And the fact that Rhaegar will likely be a better king than any before him simply _enrages_ Aerys.

"You're doing well, My Lady," Pycelle's voice rips Rhaella from her thoughts. "Just a bit more I suspect."

A bit more? Rhaella already feel like she's dying. How much longer can she keep this up?

 _Please_ , she prays and Pycelle says that the head is crowning, _let it live_.

Whether or not the Gods hear her is unimportant, what matters is whether or not they will grant her this small mercy. For the Gods are cruel despite the fact that they are meant to protect those that pray to them. It is a simple truth, one Rhaella has no qualms admitting for it is not meant as a slight and the Gods will not take it as such.

Another scream tears itself from her and as it dies another sound fills the room. A high pitched wail and the jubilant cries of Pycelle as he claims that, "It is a boy, your Grace!"

 _A boy, a boy, it is a boy_.

"Let me see him." Rhaella commands, begs, as she pushes up on trembling arms. "Let me see him."

"We must tend to him first, your Grace, allow yourself time to rest." Pycelle replies, eyes trained on the bloody mass of wriggling flesh in his arms.

"No," Rhaella's voice is sharp, "let me see my babe!"

Pycelle levels her with a look, one she has seen many times from the man, it speaks of annoyance and an instinctual need to survive. For any slight to Rhaella could mean his removal from the Red Keep on Aerys command... Not that he would necessarily care about any slight to Rhaella but if he somehow felt that _he_ was being slighted through his wife? Well, Pycelle would never work as a Maester again.

"Mind his head, your grace." Pycelle says at last.

And then he is passing the babe into Rhaella's arms and she cannot breathe for the beauty of this babe is so very, very great that it nearly sucks the life from her.

When was the last time she'd held one of her own babes in her arms? When was the last time one came from her body kicking and screaming and strong? When was the last time she'd been able to hold one of her babes and suffer the feel of still limbs in her arms? Unseeing eyes peering up into her own?

Too long. It has been far too long. But now she has a babe of her own, one that will live beyond his third name's day. One that will live long enough to be knighted. She knows it.

 _She knows it_.

And as Rhaella strokes her son's little chest with the pad of her finger she weeps with the joy of it.

~X~

Melisandre shivers as she stares into the flames of the fire she's built, eyes aching in their desperation to catch a glimpse, just another glimpse, of her Lord's chosen. The girl with the curls and the wild eyes. Her Azor Ahai come again.

Glancing at the horizon Merlizandre can just make out the pinprick of lights in the distance. It's a port city if Melisandre's correct. One that will provide her with a ship that will carry her to Westeros where she can begin searching for her Lord's champion.

Melisandre frowns as she leans closer to the flame, red hair streaming over her shoulders to brush her thighs.

She had never thought to consider that Azor Ahai would come again as a women. It is a mistake Melisandre plans to never make again. Now she knows better, now she knows that she will have to be more careful. Because the girl, the savior, is a pretty little thing and Melisandre knows that men tend to like pretty little things a fair bit more then they have any right to.

If anyone knows this, it is Melisandra.

The sooner she reaches Westeros the better.

Melisandra presses her lips together and closes her eyes when she realizes her Lord has nothing to show her, nothing of importance for her to witness.

Azor Ahai coming in the body of a woman puts a limit to some of the precautions Melisandre can take. There will be no shadow assassins, no creatures born of shadow to destroy those who would harm Azor Ahai. There might be brothers, even a father, that Melisandre could take advantage of but the magic would not be as strong. There would be a possibility of error.

Gritting her teeth Melisandra moves to brush her fingers against the metal covering her neck.

"The night is dark and full of terror." She whispers more to herself then to anyone.

Around her the darkness seems to breath, moving in time to the rhythmic beating of her own hear. Melisandre takes comfort in it. She is not alone, her Lord of Light walks will her, sends his shadows and his visions to guide her. Her Lord of Light will not allow her to fail, _she_ will not allow herself to fail, for the risks are too high and Melisandre has never liked to loose anyway.


	16. A Tourney for a Prince

Months later Tywin Lannisters tells the King he will be holding a tourney in Lannisport in honor of Visery's birth. And the invitations are sent out across Westeros mere days later so that the other High Lords will be forced to attend whether they want to or not. And as theirs is a Great House the members of House Baratheon will be expected to attend.

Ostara isn't necessarily looking forward to it.

Because she'll be unable to return to Valyria for the duration of the trip for fear that someone will come looking for her and find her missing. She supposes she could come up with a way around that but then she'd have to worry about finding a quick, inconspicuous way to travel to Valyria. Besides, she has a feeling that this tourney is going to be... Uncomfortable? Yes, that's the best word for it. Uncomfortable.

Like wet stockings or the tightness of a dress that doesn't fit quite right.

Uncomfortable, and Ostara can't quite decide why that is exactly but suspects it stems from the fact that she just doesn't want to go.

But what is she to do? Refuse to go? Even if she were to do so Cassana Baratheon would have her hide for even suggesting it... Besides, her trunk is already packed and despite everything that is likely to go wrong at this celebration, Ostara is grudgingly excited. So when her mother strides into Ostara's room dressed in a gown of flowing red-clay silk Ostara pointedly ignores the fabric in her hands.

A gown for her no doubt, specially made.

"Good morning, darling girl." Her mother greets as she places the pile of fabric down on the bed.

"Good morning, Mother." Ostara replies, eyes glued to the richly dyed silk of the gown.

Her mother notices, of course she does, and smiles as she begins to carefully unfold the gown.

"I've a gift for you." Her mother says and she holds up the gown to show Ostara. "Do you like it?"

It's lovely.

Rich, russet colored fabric with brilliantly gold embroidery along the bodice made to look like blooming desert flowers, the skirt is full and loose and the sleeves look as though they end at the elbow. Beautiful, but Ostara still doesn't understand why she's getting a new dress. It's lovely, yes, but for what reason would her mother have a new gown made for her when she already had a new wardrobe made mere days ago?

"It's lovely, what's the occasion?" Ostara voices her confusion as bluntly as she can.

"Do I need a reason to spoil my daughter? Consider it an early name's day gift." Cassana replies.

Ostara watches as she moves to the trunk and begins putting Ostara's gown with the others. The russet silk not being the darkest of the colors in her collection but noticeably different none the less. Especially when it's tucked against a gown of deep olive green embroidered with silver leaves. Ostara stares at the spot it occupies in her trunk even after her mother has closed the lid.

"Am I to where this to the feast? So that the Lords might look upon me like chattel? I already have dresses, I don't need another."

"Ostara."

"Mother."

Cassana sighs, "I'm gifting this dress to you so that you might wear it to the feast, yes, but not for the reasons you so obviously think."

Ostara very much doubts that.

It's not being stuck with a possible suitor is making Ostara angry or nervous, though that might be some of the reason tension is beginning to build at the base of her skull, her nervousness comes from the feeling she has that her parents, or perhaps more specifically her mother, is trying to be sneaky about Ostara meeting with possible suitors..

"Have you decided on jewelry? I want to make sure you're bringing the pearls."

"I've packed the pearls with the rest of my jewelry, yes."

"Good," Cassana reaches out to tug on a wayward curl, "the pearls will look lovely on you."

And will be utterly impossible to take out of her hair later. Oh, it wouldn't be so bad if the damnable pearls were part of a net or a band of some sort, it might even be manageable. However, the Pentoshi man who'd sold her mother the pearls had convinced Cassana that the delicate gold coils would look stellar if they were woven into Ostara's hair.

As if the mass of her hair wasn't enough of a damn pain to begin with.

But she packed the little coils away with the rest of the jewelry she'd chosen to bring. Why? Because her mother had gotten them specifically for her and despite everything Ostara does enjoy the concept of them.

"When are we leaving?" Ostara asks as she shuts her book and sets it aside.

"In an hour or so, your father has some business to finish here and the servants are moving our things to the wheelhouse."

"I see."

Ostara casts a glance at Rubeus. The Shadowcat has not grown a great deal, standing at a height equal to that of the bottom rib of Ostara's rib cage, but he has not willingly left Ostara's side for long periods of time and she has no intention of leaving him at Storm's End. But traveling with him in the wheelhouse might prove difficult if her mother decides to bring more then the minimum requirement of personal companions.

The shadowcat yawns, the action displaying the alarming amount of razor sharp fangs in his mouth before they disappear as his mouth snaps shuts. Ostara can't help the smile that stretches across her face before she turns her attention back to her mother, who has just finished whatever she'd been doing while her daughter had been distracted and smiles charmingly.

"I'll come fetch you before we leave." Cassana promises.

"Very well," Ostara says. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, darling girl."

And then her mother is gone.

Ostara stares at the door for several long moments before pulling her wand from its hiding spot in her boot, then she moves to sit at her vanity. Her reflection is almost grainy in the mirror but Ostara doesn't mind. It's of little consequence to her if she can see herself in perfect detail or not. It's not like she needs a mirror to do her hair when she's got her wand and a very clear image in her head.

Once her hair is done Ostara slips her wand back into her boot and turns to Rubeus.

"You're lucky, you know," She tells the shadowcat, "you don't have to worry about politics."

Instead of answering the beast blinks at her, huffs, and curls into a tighter ball in the corner. Ostara shakes her head in vague disbelief before turning her attention to the pile of books on the table next to her bed. She'll only be able to bring a few without drawing attention to them and she can't decide if she'd rather bring a book of legends from this world or the two books _He_ had left on the foot of her bed the day before.

She decides to bring the newest books as she can always glamour their covers if need be. So she tosses them into the small basket with the embroidery she'll be expected to work on during some of the trip to Lannisport. Ostara stares at the vibrantly colored covers and the titles printed in gold on the binding before closing the basket and hiding the books from view.

~X~

"You'll be careful, yes?" His mother asks.

It's the first time he's seen her in months and while they've sent letters back and forth since Rhaegar went to squire with Jon Connington it is good to see his mother's face. Even if it is gaunt and there are dark smears of purple-blue beneath her eyes from lack of sleep.

Rhaegar allows her a rare smile and moves to press a kiss to the hand not supporting Viserys.

"I will." Rhaegar promises.

"Try to have fun, Rhaegar." His mother commands after a moment, then she smiles, "I hear Ser Arthur is looking forward to the tourney."

"Arthur looks forward to every tourney, mother." Rhaegar remarks, eyes drifting to where his friend is waiting with Barristan Selmy.

His mother grows quiet for a long moment and Rhaegar almost asks if she is feeling well. If he should fetch for Maester Pycelle. Rhaegar is loath to do it, as he trusts the man about as much as he trusts a manticore, but he is a Maester and if his mother is ill... Well, he has never intentionally hurt Rhaella Targaryen as far as Rhaegar is aware.

Fortunately his mother's silence breaks with a wistful laugh. Her hand rising to brush silvery hair from Rhaegar's face as she used to do when he was a child or later in his life whenever she wished to offer comfort.

"I'll see you when you return." His mother says.

"Yes."

And then Rhaella Targaryen steps back, puts space between them, allowing himself a proper glance at the babe in his mother's grasp. It's perhaps a selfish thing, as his mother has lost so many children, but he is thankful Viserys had not been born a girl. A sister-bride is not something Rhaegar has ever truly relished the idea of and a sister-bride that is ten-and-seven years his junior is even worse.

It is cruel of him though, to think such things and he regrets them almost as soon as the thoughts flit through his mind.

His mother did not deserve to lose the children she has lost. She did not deserve Aerys' rage after each child was born silent or lost their lives in the crib. Viserys is the first to live beyond a fortnight. He is thankful for that much at least.

Without much thought he moves to press a chaste kiss to his mother's temple.

"If you are in need of anything while we are away write to me and I will return." Rhaegar promises.

"If I need anything I will be more then capable of acquiring it myself."

Rhaegar casts a glance between his mother and brother before nodding, then he's making his way to the destrier awaiting him. A great beast of a horse with a coat of dappled blue and silver. His favorite, truth be told.

Once he's settled on his mount Arthur moves to ride beside him.

Neither or them speak as the King announces that it's time to leave. Aerys does not even bid his wife goodbye, nor does he move to offer affection for his newest son, all he does is spare then a glance and a farewell before digging his heels into his horse's flanks. Rhaegar hates him for it, hates that his father cannot even spare a moment to make an attempt at being kind to his wife.

When Rhaegar marries he will not be like his father.

He will not raise his hand in anger, he will not spit derogatory terms, he will not blame his wife for any stillbirths or sickly infants. To the Old Gods and the New, he swears it.

"Are you unwell, Rhaegar?" Arthur asks.

"I'm quite alright, thank you."

Arthur smirks.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with a certain Baratheon would it?" He chortles.

Rhaegar almost wants to shoves the blonde haired man off his horse. He refrains, however. Instead Rhaegar just rolls his eyes, adjusts his grip on the reins, and does _not_ react when his closest friend snorts.

"Oh, don't be nervous Rhaegar," Arthur laughs. "I hear Ostara Baratheon is a sweet _girl_."

"She is five years my junior and something of a friend Arthur, no more."

It is not a lie. Not truly. Ostara Baratheon is his friend, they exchange letters and books, discuss things that Rhaegar would not be comfortable discussing with others. The only reason Arthur finds it so funny, Rhaegar is sure, is because he has nothing better to do with his time then to make Rhaegar irritable.

"And if you do anything inappropriate that cat of hers will likely rip off your arm."

"That isn't funny." Rhaegar reprimands, mildly embarrassed that Arthur would even suggest that he would do anything with a girl just shy of two-and-ten years.

"Yes it is."

Rhaegar doesn't respond, instead he rolls his eyes and urges his horse to move faster. Arthur's laughter follows him as Rhaegar moves to ride beside Barristan Selmy who does little more than lift a peppered brow at his sudden appearance.

The man has always been a good friend to Rhaegar, perhaps not as close to him as Arthur Dayne but a good friend none the less, and while there is a certain distance between them Rhaegar doesn't doubt that he would willingly, without a moment of hesitation, place the lives of his Mother and brother into the aging Knight's hands. Which is a feat in an of itself because Rhaegar would only trust two people to protect his mother and brother that were not himself.

Arthur Dayne being one of them.

Rhaegar runs a hand through his hair, eyes moving to travel between each member of their retinue. There are carts with supplies and trunks and other things that will be needed for the tourney. Squires ride beside their appointed knights, banners held aloft with a steady hand. Several of the members of the Kingsquard carry Targaryen banners.

They flutter in the wind, ebony silk and scarlet threat a stark contrast to the pale blue of the sky and supple green around them.

The prince finds himself thinking about the cloak his mother had been embroidering when he'd returned to King's Landing only a month prior. Black satin lined with silk, a three headed dragon slowly taking shake across the back, there had been a small container of rubies his mother had been taking from, scattering little red gems here and there across the sea of black.

It will be the cloak Rhaegar wraps his bride in.

Rhaegar wonders if his parents have started considering brides for him.

Rhaegar suspects he already has an idea of who they'll chose.

Absently, and with no small amount of quilt, Rhaegar wonders if the colors will suit his bride-to-be. Wonders if she will look more lovely in the ebony and crimson of his house of the colors of her own.

He supposes that at the end of the day it doesn't truly matter.

~X~

"What are you reading, Ostara?" Her mother asks on the last morning of their trip to Lannisport.

Ostara glances up from her book to meet her mother's gaze. None of the other ladies in the wheel house, Cassana's personal maids, are paying much attention. They're too busy embroidering or sleeping or gossiping about this Lord or that Lady, so they haven't been much of a problem for Ostara.

"Legends of Asshai." Ostara lies.

It's something she's been doing a lot of lately. Lying. Mostly to her mother, who has no idea that her sweet daughter is more than human. It is what her father wanted, unspoken though that want may be, Ostara knows it is true. At first Ostara had been against the idea of lying to her mother about what she could do, the power she is capable of, now it seems like a rather good idea.

Her mother, though she may love Ostara deeply, is probably not as trustworthy as her husband or Stannis.

"Do you find them interesting, darling girl?" Her mother's voice is coated with gentle laughter.

"Interesting enough." Ostara retorts as she closes her book and slips it into the basket holding her embroidery.

Rubeus sees the lack of book as an opportunity and promptly drops his overly large head into Ostara's lap where he huffs expectantly and begins rubbing his head against her middle. Ostara placates him by carding her fingers through his fur.

"We'll reach Lannisport soon. Are you not excited?" One of the hand maidens asks.

"I am excited to see Robert, yes."

It's entirely too political for Ostara's liking. What she'd really like to tell the woman is that she doesn't give a flying fuck about seeing Robert, which, yes that's a lie but not a big one? Ostara hasn't seen Robert in years and their letters are always overly polite at best. She's not sure how this little reunion is going to go but if Robert's anything like she remembers then Ostara's likely to end up playing mediator for her brothers.

Ostara curls her fingers around the scruff of Rubeus' neck.

All around her the women are twittering about how handsome Prince Rhaegar is, how talented he is, how loved he is. It's as if they haven't even listened to what she'd said. Why are they doing this? Do they not realize that Ostara doesn't care about whether or not the Prince's hair is utterly soft or that he seems incredibly sad or that he's an exceptionally talented jouster?

 _Oh_ , Ostara thinks as a sudden realization hits her like a brick to the face.

 _Oh_ , because it's beginning to make sense.

 _Oh_ , because her mother has gotten her a new gown and new jewels and she's old enough to be considered for marriage.

 _Oh_ , because she's got Targaryen blood and Rhaella hasn't had a daughter.

Honestly, Ostara should have seen it coming.

She supposed it could be worse. Obviously none of this is good and the situation is giving her a migraine, but at least she knows Rhaegar well enough to be comfortable in her assessment of him.

If she says no, if she tells him she doesn't want this, then Ostara is confident Rhaegar will help her get out of any betrothal her parents might be trying to set between them.

Of course, she could be wrong. She might be over thinking this.

Rhaegar is a prince after all, and young women looking to improve their station tend to focus a great deal on princes. Especially princess they have a chance at marrying.

Ostara purses her lips and leans back against the seat.

She won't jump to any conclusions. Not yet anyway. When they stop at Lannisport and get settled Ostara will speak with her father about what's going on. She can at last trust him not to lie to her or avoid the subject all together.

Hopefully the two of them can have a reasonable, adult conversation.

From her lap Rubeus presses his nose to her belly, hot breath seeping through her dress and into her skin.

One of the ladies, a dark eyed woman with honey-blonde hair and a sever face, casts the shadowcat a tentative glance before returning to her embroidery. As she pushes the needle through the pale fabric Ostara notices the shaking of her pale fingers. Ostara tries not to scoff. If the woman was truly so afraid of Rubeus she wouldn't have chosen to sit so close to him.

There's no point in calling her on it, though. Doing anything like that would cause nothing but trouble and the last thing Ostara needs at the moment is anything even remotely close to trouble. Especially now, when she's traveling into unknown territory. Not that anything is going to happen at the tourney. There's going to be too many guards, too many eyes, too many people who'd jump on the chance to fall into the good graces of the King by protecting a member of his family.

But Ostara's not fool enough to think she or her family are entirely safe. Which is why the firm press of her wand against her calf if a reassuring thing. No one can hurt her if she has Rubeus, no one can hurt her family if she has her wand.

A glance at her mother, who is speaking animatedly with one of her companions, is enough to put an end to whatever reservations she might have had about taking another person's life.

Because she and her mother might not see eye-to-eye but Cassana Baratheon is still her mother and Ostara will always have a certain love for the woman who gave birth to her. Even if the woman tends to make Ostara's life increasingly more difficult.

~X~

Early the next morning Ostara finds her father sitting at the large round table that had been placed at the center of his tent.

Ostara doesn't see her mother, which either means she's still asleep or she's gone off to visit with one of her Lady friends. Either way, Ostara glad she won't be present for the conversation she and her father are about to have.

"Father," Ostara says the moment she's stepped up to the table and the man has looked away from his work, "are you intending to betroth me to Prince Rhaegar?"

The silence that stretches between them is more then answer enough but she waits for him to say something anyway.

"It has been discussed, yes, but nothing has been decided upon." Her father says.

"Will I have any say in whether or not I marry Rhaegar?" Ostara demands, temper flaring very briefly.

"My intention was to discuss it with you when the time came, yes."

Easing into a chair Ostara places both hands in her lap and presses her lips together in a firm line.

"What will happen if I chose not to marry him?" She asks.

Her father's blue eyes look terribly amused for a split second before he replies. "I suspect Aerys will be rather put out but it is not something he can order me to do, marry you to his son."

"But the choice would be mine? In the end?"

"Yes, but I ask that you truly consider your options, Ostara. Rhaegar is a good man and he will be King, you've exchanged letters as well, he is not a common Lord and there will be repercussions if you do not marry him."

Ostara isn't worried about repercussions but she understands what her father is saying, what he is asking of her, so she nods her head once before rising from the chair. She's not entirely sure why she sat down in the first place.

"I'll consider all of my options." She promises.

"That's all that I ask." Her father replies.

And Ostara moves to press a chaste kiss to her father's bearded cheek before turning and striding from the room, Rubeus padding along silently behind her.


	17. A Girl in Black, A Woman in Red

The tournament doesn't begin until the day after everyone arrives, which gives the various Lords competing in the lists enough time to prepare their armor and their horses and have their squires run their errands.

Ostara has never truly been to a tourney such as this before and she finds herself wandering through the maze of tents and stands with a curious smile. It's almost like the renaissance faire Hermione had read about. Banners and tents and vendors. The only difference is that every single person is wearing a historically accurate costume of some sort.

Rubeus trails behind her, never farther than a hands width from her side. More then once Ostara has caught him curling his lip at a passing squire and she has never truly reprimanded him for it. Rubeus is the only reason her mother hadn't sent armed guards with her.

So whenever he turns his lip up or narrows his eyes at someone Ostara ignores it as best she can. But even she is not so cruel as to allow her familiar to torment every person they pass. And whenever the shadowcat happens to cause someone legitimate distress Ostara presses her hand to her familiar's side and offers a sharp word of reprimand.

But one man seems particularly unperturbed by the curled lip and fangs.

"A fine pet, my Lady, I've never seen the likes of him." The man remarks when Ostara passes him.

Ostara stops, allowing herself a moment to observe the man. She drags her eyes from his finely made boots to the top of his carefully groomed head. He is, unsurprisingly, handsome. Tall with broad shoulders, sandy blonde hair, and eyes colored similar to that of a sprig of lavender. Ostara is only aware of one family in all of Westeros aside form the Targaryens that possess such eyes.

"I would assume not, Lord Dayne." Ostara's reply is laced with a slight hesitation.

The man's face is full of mirth a he steps away from the tent he'd been standing beside. He takes her hand, eyes lingering on the Shadowcat for but a moment before he meets Ostara's gaze, and presses a chaste kiss to the back of her hand.

"Arthur Dayne, My Lady, I'm afraid we've never been introduced."

"Ostara Baratheon, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Ostara pulls her hand from his grasp and offers another polite smile. "If you'll excuse me, I was just wandering the grounds."

She moves to step away but the Kingsguard Knight follows, hand on the pommel of his sword, and Ostara almost wants to spell his feet to the ground but knows it would reflect poorly on her and cause more trouble then it's worth, and so she allows the man to follow her through the tents and stalls. Besides, he's not truly hurting anything.

"Might I escort you, Lady Baratheon? While I have no doubt your pet is more than capable of protecting you I would prefer to see you back to your tent without incident." Sir Dayne says after a moment.

"If it please you, Sir."

"Thank you, My Lady."

The young witch glances at the man, nods briskly, then continues on her way. Originally, she'd intended to find the quietest places in Lannisport to make use of later, but seeing as her plans have been derailed Ostara might as well return to her family's tent. Thankfully her newfound companion is quiet enough and Rubeus has stopped snarling at him every time he moves too close to Ostara.

Through the tents and fluttering banners Ostara can just make out the ebony and gold of House Baratheon. A welcome sight as she's more than ready to leave Arthur Dayne to his own devices.

"Do you enjoy Lannisport, My Lady?" Arthur asks after a while.

"I've only just arrived but it seems pleasant enough." She says as she carefully avoids a young boy carrying wooden practice swords.

Ostara offers a tight grin and Arthur Dayne must realize that she's growing uncomfortable with his polite smiles and his trivial conversation because he opens his mouth, to apologize or say something else to soothe her Ostara isn't sure. Whatever he goes to say is interrupted by the sound of an all too familiar voice.

"Ostara," both she and Arthur turn to look at Stannis. "mother is looking for you."

Sweet, sweet Stannis. He doesn't even realize how much of a hero he is to her. Not, of course, that she felt truly uncomfortable with Arthur Dayne, it's just that she doesn't know him all that well and isn't it odd that he'd gone out of his way to accompany an obviously protected girl back to her tent despite the fact that no one will attack Ostara with Rubeus at her side?

After all, no one wants to risk loosing a limb to an annoyed Shadowcat much less their life.

"Thank you, Sir Dayne, it was a pleasure to meet you." Ostara makes sure to curtsy before moving to her brother's side.

Stannis is only a few moments her elder and completely non-magical but Ostara feels ridiculously safe in his presence. He doesn't smile at her, doesn't offer her a twitch of the mouth that Ostara has learned means he finds something rather amusing, instead he offers a ferocious glare to Arthur and guides Ostara away.

Once they're far enough to not be overheard Ostara smiles at her brother.

"Thank you, Stannis... Truly."

"Did he hurt you?" Stannis demands.

"No, of course not."

 _What could you have done that I could not if he had?_

"Mother _is_ looking for you though." Stannis says after a moment. "Said something about preparing for the joust tomorrow."

"Thank you, Stannis." Ostara says, moving to press a chaste kiss to her brother's cheek.

Stannis nods curtly before pivoting on his heel and making his way over to where Daevyn Sand is waiting for him, the Dornish bastard offers Ostara a happy smile and a tilt of the chin before he disappears with Stannis. They'll be training for a while, never let it be said that Daevyn Sand isn't just as attentive to Stannis' needs as he is to Ostara's.

And Stannis' skills have improved since Daevyn began teaching him. Ostara can't even be angry that he's taking away from her own lessons because it's so good to see Stannis happy and thriving. Making their father proud and whatnot.

The girl shakes her head, pats Rubeus on the flank, and pushes open the flap of the tent so her familiar can enter before her.

Cassana Baratheon is sitting in one of the chairs set around a table the servants had set up, she's embroidering something into a strip of black cloth and Ostara only spares it a second of consideration before she lowers herself into the chair across from her mother. Her mother offers a kind smile and puts aside her embroidery.

"Stannis said you were looking for me." Ostara tells her mother, perhaps unnecessarily.

"Yes, I was wondering if you would like to come with me when I go to visit Lady Lannister." Cassana explains.

"Oh... Yes, I would not mind."

She wants to see Tyrion, the babe she saved. She wants to know why he was so important, why _He_ wanted the little babe saved. And what better way to do that then to visit his mother? Surely Joanna Lannister brought him. If not Ostara will be very put out.

"Excellent, she'll be so excite to see you... And so will the twins." Cassana says.

Something in her tone causes Ostara to lift an eyebrow in question. It's not an uncommon occurrence for her mother to attempt to get Ostara to befriend girls of higher birth then Cerys. The fact that Cersei Lannister will one day be her good-sister only makes it more important in Cassana's mind that the two of them become friends.

But while it is understandable it's still rather annoying.

"How old are her children now? Nine? Ten?" Ostara asks, already knowing their age.

They're only two years her junior after all. And with Ostara being only a month shy of twelve years the way Cersei's name's day falls would put her at just over ten.

"Ten, Cersei is supposedly very sweet."

"And Jamie?"

"Johanna says he is likely to take after his father."

"I see." Ostara glances at her mother, "And what of little Tyrion?"

Her mother's mouth purses a bit and she says nothing other then a gentle, "Go clean up, we'll leave in a bit."

"Yes, mother." Ostara says, feeling a sick sort of glee at having made the other woman uncomfortable.

Cassana reaches out to brush back a wayward curl before leaning over to press a chaste kiss to Ostara's forehead.

Once her mother pulls away Ostara moves to exit her parents' tend and over to the one beside it. It is the one she has been given, it's small but not uncomfortably so, and Ostara enjoys the fact that Stannis' tent is on the opposite side of her own. Which means she won't have to sneak past her parents if she wants to cause a bit of mischief and drag Stannis along for the ride.

Ostara snorts quietly to herself as she moves to the basin of water waiting on the table near her cot.

She dips the cloth in the water, drags it over her face, and puts it back before moving to redo her braids. When that's done she smooths out her dress, adjusts her necklace, and makes sure her wand is secured in her stocking before she heads back to her parents' tent.

Ostara pretends she doesn't notice the hooded figure staring at her from the shadows.

~X~

"Cassana," the golden woman they meet at the opening of a rather ostentatious tent cries, "it's so wonderful to see you!"

The two blonde haired children beside her do not look nearly as thrilled as their mother. Especially Cersei, who stands by the tent holding a little, wriggling bundle that must be Tyrion.

Excitement wells up in Ostara's chest, a great happy thing that causes a subtle tingling in her fingers.

"It is wonderful to see you as well, Lady Lannister."

The blonde with the pale moss colored eyes smiles as she waves her children forward. "Cersei, Jaime, this is Lady Baratheon's daughter Ostara."

Ostara offers the customary curtsy which matches Cersei's, Jaime merely bows to her.

None of them speak.

"And this," Joanna says as she plucks the bundle from Cersei's arms, "is my son Tyrion."

The babe is not a pretty thing. Not like Cersei and Jaime with their feline cheekbones and summer grass eyes. Ostara remembers what her parents had said about how the boy was born a dwarf. Imp. Small.

He is small, yes, and he lacks the striking beauty of his siblings but those aren't so important. Beauty fades and there are plenty of short men in the world.

Ostara finds herself smiling at the little boy and tells the mother, "His eyes are lovely."

This is not a lie.

One is the green of an jade, bright and vibrant, the other is darker. A forest color that appears almost black.

Joanna smiles and pulls the blanket down a bit to reveal more of his face.

"I said the same. Some of the Maesters think the other will settle soon." Joanna says.

"Perhaps, though, I don't think it matters either way." Ostara replies, she pointedly ignores the glare Cersei Lannister is shooting her.

 _Sweet girly my arse,_ she thinks as she moves to stand closer to her mother.

Soon enough the little group finds themselves in the Lannister Tent, the two Ladies seated beside one another while the children are seated a bit further away and very close together. No doubt, an attempt to make them interact and form bonds.

Ostara sips at her water and listens to Jaime Lannister talk about how he is going to be a Kingsguard when he grows older, one of the best the world has ever seen. Something about Cersei's reaction to all of this makes Ostara's hair stand on end. She decides not to comment on it though, instead choosing to listen to Jaime and offer the occasional remark.

Eventually the conversation is steered toward Cersei and the blonde's face untwists with a speed Ostara would never have thought possible before. She smiles prettily, pearly teeth straight and gleaming, and smooths a hand over the heavy maroon brocade she wears.

"Your dress is lovely, Ostara." Cersei remarks and her tone, though polite, seems forced.

"Thank you," Ostara doesn't even glance at the fine lavender embroidery nor the plum colored silk, "I had it made recently."

"Did you do the embroidery yourself?" Cersei demands, tone taking a nasty edge.

"No, I did not. I had other, more important things to attend to." She offers.

"Oh? And what might that be?"

 _Dragons and potions and learning the sword._

"Dancing," she says instead, "I love to dance."

Cersei's answering smile is soft and sweet and if Ostara didn't know better she'd think Cersei were actually happy to hear it. And she is, happy to hear it, but not because she enjoys dancing.

Ostara's spent enough time around people like Cersei to know the looks, the glances, the tones.

She's spent enough time playing the political game in various lives to know that Cersei Lannister is not her friend, will never be her friend, because to Cersei she is a threat. What kind of threat Ostara doesn't know but it's obvious that Cersei sees her as nothing more then competition. It's amusing, really, and Ostara can't even find it in herself to be upset by the animosity the younger girl is throwing at her.

~X~

Dinner is a quiet affair. Very little is discussed aside from the happenings of the day and what is expected of them tomorrow. Ostara has heard it all before and waits until her father has stopped talking about his little visit with the King earlier that day to broach the question that has been nagging at her all afternoon since she'd heard the rumor from a passing squire when returning from the Lannister tent.

"Father?"

"Yes, Ostara."

"Who is Maggy the Frog?"

Steffon Baratheon goes very, very still. His eyes are dull as he turns his attention to Ostara fully.

"Where did you hear of Maggy the Frog?" He demands.

"I overheard two squires discussing her when mother and I were returning from our visit with Lady Lannister." Ostara replies. "Is she dangerous, father?"

Steffon scoffs, "Not to you, Ostara. But many have wasted good coin and their own health on words that do nothing but cause trouble."

"So she is a... Witch?"

A look is shared between the two.

 _Is she like me?_ Ostara cocks her head to the side.

 _Yes, in a way_. Her father's eyes seem to reply.

"Listen to me, Ostara, Maggy the Frog is a fortune teller. The knowledge she possesses is dangerous and I'll not have you fretting over it." Her father states, tone sharp.

And Hermione Granger would have been annoyed to find the woman to be a prophet... But Ostara knows better. Because her father is _worried_ and Steffon Baratheon worries for nothing that does not need to be worried over. Which means that Maggy the Frog has some sort of magic that enables her to, at the very least, know certain things about individual people.

This is, perhaps, a very good thing.

"Of course not, father. I was only curious." Ostara says, not sure if she's lying or not.

And her father's answering nod is more a nod of permission than a nod of understanding.

Ostara hides her smile behind her cup as she sips at the water she'd been given to have with her dinner.

~X~

Maggy was young when the first vision flashed before her eyes. A man with large blue eyes and peppered hair strangling a boy to death in an alley near her home. He'd gasped, raked his nails down his attacker's face, and then his body had gone still, still, still. When the images had faded Maggy screamed, the taste of the boy's blood hot on her tongue and lips from where he'd slapped her with an injured hand.

No one had believed her.

Not until the boy's body had been found days later.

Now she sits in a creaking wooden chair staring up at a girl with wild purple eyes and hair hidden beneath the hood of a cloak that is much too large and much too plain for someone of her stature. It is a cloak that could almost match that of the shadow creature hovering behind her shoulder. A cloak made of nightfall and mist, meant to blend into the darkness of a forest at night and keep others from noticing her.

"Are you Maggy the Frog?" The girl asks, already moving to pull back the hood of her cloak.

"I am." Maggy smirks at the child, "Do you require something? A love potion perhaps? A cure for the pimples that will likely cover your pretty little chin?"

She is mocking the girl, Maggy knows this, she mocks all of the girls that come looking to have their fortunes told.

 _Silly little fools,_ Maggy thinks, _wishing to know that which should not be known_.

But the girl merely shakes her head and steps closer to the table as she says, "Nothing like that... I was wondering if, perhaps, you could help me."

"And what would a pretty little dove such as yourself need?" Maggy demands.

"I was wondering if you could help me figure that out, actually."

At this, Maggy leans back in her chair. Shock and disbelief warring in her chest.

Because who is this child to be so disinterested with her future? Who is she to reject the gift Maggy would have eventually used to her advantage. Before the girl can react Maggy is lunging across the table to snatch the girl's wrist and pull her close so she can drag her tongue up the girl's neck where sweat has begun to bead. What she finds surprises her.

"You," Maggy cackles as he tosses the girl's hand back at her, "are lost, little witch."

"Yes."

"There is no way home for you, even I know this."

"As do I... But I had hoped that perhaps you could tell me why I'm here?"

Maggy frowns.

"It will not be pleasant for you, to know what your future holds. Most can't bear it." It's an honest statement, many who come to Maggy leave in a rage or in tears, hearing things they never wanted to hear.

The girl nods.

"Yes, i know."

"And yet you would have me look."

"I would."

"Why?"

The girl swallows and her eyes burn, burn, burn in the low light offered by the fire between them.

"I like to be prepared."

Maggy leans back in her seat, fingers dancing on the hilt of her dagger. She has never tasted the blood of another witch before. So what would it hurt to try? If this little witch is so willing to hurt for the knowledge who is Maggy to deny her? Besides, it would be an interesting experience.

Without much thought Maggy extends her hand.

The girl hesitates for but a moment before her hand settles in Maggy's.

And the red that drips from the cut caused by Maggy's blade is almost too red, almost too warm.

Almost too sweet on her tongue.

Maggy sucks hard on the injured finger, tongue digging into the wound to coax more blood to flow, and spits the finger out with a gasp as the girl's past and future and magic settles in Maggy's veins.

There is a child's laughter and a man's voice and the screams of drying men but there is also... Something else. Something soft and foreign and sad.

"Three questions," Maggy breathes. "You have three questions."

"Why was I brought here? Can you tell?"

"To defend those who cannot defend themselves."

"So something is coming then?" She mutters, more to herself then anyone else.

"Yes, a being of fear and death. An old enemy, one you have faced before." Maggy whispers.

"Before? What does that mean?"

Maggy smiles and the girl's eyes harden.

"You already know what it means." Maggy shrugs, "Your out of questions."

The implication is not missed. Maggy watches as those wild, burning, sad Targaryen eyes go wide before they shutter and dull into something resembling a mask. The shadowy creature behind the girl bends at the waist, curving over her prone body like a snake, and reaches out to touch her cheek with gnarled fingers before it turns away and leaves them be.

Like a parent going to defend its child... Or a Lord moving to protect what is his.

Maggy isn't sure she wants to understand their relationship. After all, she is under no illusions as to what the being is. She might be able to see him, feel his presence, but it is not a man. It is the Stranger. It is something much more infinite and theirs is not a relationship that is any of Maggy's business.

The thunk of a coin purse hitting the table top near frightens her.

"Your coin." The girl explains, smile obviously forced. "May the Gods be good to you Maggy the Frog."

"And to you."

A tentative smile, more genuine then the last, and then the girl is moving to leave.

Maggy watches the slump of her shoulders, the steadiness of her breath, and realizes that while there is a great sadness in the girl there is also a sort of relief there too.

Before the girl slips through the tent's opening Maggy finds herself speaking.

"Beware the Lord of Light's shadowbinder, a great ally you might make yourself... Or, if you are not careful, a foe."

When the girl twists to look at Maggy her eyes are hard but there is no cruelty there, no malice, no fear. And she offers a tight nod of understanding before disappearing from the tent. It is when she's gone that Maggy realizes, quite suddenly and without the help of her visions, that she's almost fond of the little to=be-Queen.

~X~

Melisandre pulls the hood of her cloak up over her hair and watches as the girl, her Azor Ahai, leaves the hedge witch's tent. There's a deep sense of indignation and subtle anger burning in her stomach over the fact that her charge, her Lord of Light's champion went to a _hedge witch_.

She supposes she can't blame the young girl.

It's not like she knows Melisandre is in Lannisport.

It was sheer luck alone that Melisandre even managed to reach Lannisport when she had, but then, she followed the King's entourage and had encountered very few problems that would have slowed her journey any more then necessary.

Still, it was luck that Melisandre even managed to catch sight of her Azor Ahai as she sneaked through the little city of extravagant tents toward the trees beyond. She'd followed at a distance, careful to keep the young woman from seeing or sensing her. Now Melisandre watches as the girl makes her way back toward the city of tents and wonders what the best way to go about getting close to the girl would be.

She's spent too long searching for her to not at least form some sort of connection while she can.

Getting to know the girl, winning her trust, and being invited to whichever great house she comes from would be best but Melisandre is patient. She has waited months to meet her Azor Ahai, she can wait a few more days if she must.


	18. The Last Dragon

Tourney's are boring. It's a realization Ostara comes to remember as she sits in the stands with her mother and a few of her mother's friends. All around her Ladies and Lords, who are either too old to participate in the events or two young to even be squired off, titter about who will win the melee or the joust.

Some believe that Tygett Lannister will win due to his prowess and his skills, others claim it will be Gerion Lannister due to his reckless, but most of the lot boast that it will be the Prince.

Prince Rhaegar who wears rubies and garnets embedded in the chest plate of his armor. Prince Rhaegar who's silvery hair is braided like a crown around his head, Prince Rhaegar who Ostara watches from the corner of her eye as he and Ser Dayne laugh and jest with one another from where they stand together awaiting their turns.

Ostara tries to look their way as little as possible. Not because she's ashamed or because she's embarrassed but because she's aware that the longer she looks the more likely she'll be caught staring and if that were to happen she'd never hear the end of it from her mother's ladies or her brothers.

Gods forbid Robert ever hear of it.

She hasn't seen much of her brother yet. There'd been a brief reunion when they'd first arrived by he'd been too busy squiring for Jon Arryn to spend much time with his sister or brother.

Stannis has been a good companion though.

But Stannis isn't here now and so to occupy her time and alleviate her boredom Ostara observes the men and women around her while they watch, thrilled, as men are knocked from their horses. There are many that she does not recognize and some that she does. There are a few noble Lords and Ladies from the Stormlands and Riverlands, more then that from the Reach and more then that from the Westerlands.

Lords and Ladies that wear finely made outfits made of surprisingly thick fabric despite the heat. They sit in the stands surrounded by their peers beneath a blistering sun and their sweat creates little streams down their faces and necks before being caught in the collars of their gowns or doublets. Some of the men dab at their heads with their handkerchiefs while the women fan themselves. It doesn't help.

The heat is still oppressive.

Ostara is thankful for her own dress, a gift from her mother made of light fabric that had been dyed a sort of olive green. It's rather plain, the only ornaments on the dress come in the form of an intricate belt made of bronze. Combined with a subtle cooling charm Ostara finds that the dress is really rather comfortable to wear on a day such as today.

"Lady Ostara." One of her mother's friends says, pulling her attention away from a noble girl who's a bit too red in the face.

"Yes?"

"It is the Prince's turn to joust, Lady Ostara."

She bows her head in thanks and turns to watch as the silver haired man guides his charger into position. On the opposite end waits Tygett Lannister in all of his red armored glory.

There is a part of Ostara, no matter how small, that hopes the man with the lion engraved upon his chest will unhorse Rhaegar. Not because she wishes the Prince to lose. It has more to do with the fact that Ostara is a Lion wearing a doe's skin. Despite the loyalty, the pride, she has for her house Ostara still finds the image of that roaring lion... Bittersweet.

But to not cheer for her prince and friend would be odd, would it not? Don't friends typically support one another? But it's not like they're publicly acknowledging themselves as friends. So it wouldn't be too strange is Ostara cheered for Tygett Lannister.

Beside her a woman gasps.

Ostara believes it is Lady Melyssa, an old friend of her mother's, or perhaps Lady Enna. Ostara isn't sure, she isn't paying enough attention to her mother's friends. Because Rhaegar and Tygett are charging one another, blunt ended lances raised, horses kicking up clumps of dirt as they're urged faster and faster until Rhaegar's lance catches Tygett in the shoulder.

The Lannister man is unhorsed. Only able to twist away from his horse enough to keep himself from being trampled by it as the charger races on.

A hushed sort of awe creeps over the crowd before it is broken by riotous applause and delighted cheers.

Ostara notes, with a huff of gentle laughter, that the people are cheering twice as loud for Rhaegar Targaryen as they did for Tywin Lannister. Louder still then they had for their King.

A quick glance at the aging, lilac eyed man shows that he is just as aware of the crowd's joy as Ostara is.

It would be amusing if Ostara wasn't fully aware of what Jealousy does to people.

"Oh wasn't that exciting, Lady Ostara?" Melyssa inquires, causing Ostara to raise an eyebrow at her suddenly breathy voice.

"I suppose I don't quite understand the entertainment value." She says.

She pointedly ignores the way the woman shakes her head in favor of turning her attention back to Rhaegar who is guiding his horse back across the field. His armor is ridiculously impractical. Only an idiot would wear all black armor into battle. She supposes that at night it might be a little more beneficial but during the day? He's more likely to suffer a heat stroke or get cooked alive in his armor.

And then there are the rubies?

One of those alone could feed a family for a month and yet someone got it into their head to embed them into his armor... And then he approved it?

Ostara wants to pinch her nose.

She's going to have to write to him about that at some point.

Thankfully the jousting breaks for lunch. Allowing the Lords and Ladies stuck in the stands a moment to stretch their legs and escape the heat as best they can. Ostara slips away from the crowd as quickly as possible and doesn't even wait for her mother or her companions, instead opting to make her way through the rows of tents until she reaches the familiar yellow and black of her family's.

With a sigh she slips into the tent and smiles at the shadowcat lounging under the table.

~X~

"I am to be squired with Wyllam Morrigen." Stannis boats the moment he sees her in his tent.

Ostara smirks at her brother from where she lays sprawled across his cot. It is too hot too eat, hotter still to lay across her own cot where Rubeus has made himself quite at home. So it is Stannis' bed she commandeers, with it's feather pillow and cotton bed clothes.

"Will you be leaving with them then? If you are to be a squire under the Morrigen's I don't see a reason for you to return to Storm's End with us at the end of the tourney."

It is not said out of cruelness. Ostara doesn't want to see her brother go, he is her favorite brother after all. The only one with whom she shares memories of laughter and mischief after Robert left for the Eyrie. But he is of an age where it is prudent he be sent off to squire. Ostara would never begrudge him an opportunity to advance his station.

"Father and Lord Morrigen are discussing it, though, I suppose I won't be returning to Storm's End with you." Stannis replies, eyes softer then Ostara is used to seeing them.

Perhaps it is the fact that they will likely not see one another again until one of their name's days.

She smiles, a sad twist of the lips, and says, "You're excited then? The Morrigen's are honorable and a trusted friend of the Baratheon's, I'm sure you'll be very happy there."

"I am content."

A long moment passes in which Ostara observes her brother.

He has grown since they left Storm's End. Nothing terribly noticeable but enough to tell Ostara that by the next time they meet he will be roughly the same height as their father. Taller even, if he's lucky.

Ostara wonders if he will be taller then Robert.

"You will write, won't you? I can't bare the thought of not speaking to you." Ostara admits after a moment. "Besides, if you weren't to write to me I would have nothing to entertain myself with."

"That's a lie and you know it," Stannis replies but then he nods. "I'll write."

"That's all I ask."

With that said Ostara drops her head back into her brother's pillow and begins tracing her finger over her belt.

He will leave her. If he is to squire with the Morrigens then he will leave her. Storm's End has never been lonely. Never, not with Daevyn Sand and Cerys. But Stannis has always been a constant in her life and he is leaving.

She's going to miss him terribly and for a moment she understands why Cersei had been so unhappy about Jaime wanting to leave.

~X~

By the end of the day Rhaegar Targaryen has managed to unseat Gerion Lannister and twelve Westerland knights and Ostara is more then a bit put out by the tourney. Because people are clapping, cheering, and gushing over the Prince as if each win is the first and it's simply exhausting having to pretend she cares enough to even pay attention.

Ostara just wants to return to her tent and read.

At least Sir Dayne may prove more interesting then the westerland knights. There's a good chance he'll unseat Rhaegar in the jousts. There's a good chance he could beat Rhaegar at just about anything that has to do with physical attacks. The Prince just seems less inclined to care about war games then his Kingsguard friend. Ostara's thankful, it means she doesn't have to deal with listening to him prattle on about battles, victories, and conquests.

She pities Cersei for this reason.

Robert, though a good man at heart, loves to boast his victories.

"Are you alright, Ostara?" Her mother asks, dragging her from her thoughts.

"Yes, I'm quite alright."

"Prince Rhaegar will be competing against Sir Dayne in a moment. That will be interesting, no?"

"I suppose, unfortunately the novelty of the tourney has been lost to me."

A quick glance about tells Cassana more then she needs to know.

"Tomorrow is the melee, sweet girl, it will be different then."

Ostara... Highly doubts that.

"Perhaps, but even so I find that I'm less inclined to care after watching the jousts."

Why would she want to watch grown men beat each other bloody for the pleasure of others? She's seen enough bloodshed and violence to feel literal offence at the thought of the melee. War games. That's all they are. And while some of the knights have seen war others haven't and as a consequence they think that the melee and a real battle are the same.

Her mother laughs, "Darling girl, tonight's the feast. That, if nothing else, will entertain you to an extent."

In response to her mother's statement Ostara sighs and turns her attention back to Rhaegar Targaryen.

With his armor and helm it's easy to see why some call him the Last Dragon. It suits him. Or it might. Ostara doesn't know him well enough to say.

With a subtle roll of her eyes Ostara turns away from the joust and to Stannis who is attending to Ser Morrigen. He looks as happy as he ever looks but Ostara knows he's thrilled to be squiring under someone.

She's pulled away from her musings by her mother's hand on her knee.

Arthur Dayne rides upon a destrier with a dappled grey coat. His armor is simple, the only embellishments coming from the sygil carved into his breast and shoulder plates. If Ostara wasn't still suspicious of his intentions the night before she might have clapped for him alongside everyone else. Instead she sits silent and composed as Sir Dayne and Rhaegar charge one another.

It happens in seconds but feels like longer.

One moment they are charging, lances raised, and the next Rhaegar is on the ground. There's a collective, shocked gasp from the crowd as Rhaegar's body sends up a small plume of yellow dirt, then people are cheering for Sir Dayen and Prince Rhaegar as the man in black armor pushes himself off the ground. Ostara claps with them, slowly and with more hesitance then the rest.

She can't tell if Rhaegar is limping because he is injured or because he's disoriented.

He hit the ground hard enough that Ostara would have told him to see a maester if she could.

A quick glance at Arthur Dayne shows the knight feels the same. His lips are pulled back in a smile but his eyes never once leave Rhaegar as the silver prince pulls off his helm. Smiling, laughing, lavender eyes so very, very sad.

 _It is not your business_ , Ostara tells herself as she rests her hands in her lap.

But the shadowy, hooded figure fading in and out from the corner of her vision has Ostara digging her teeth into her bottom lip and hoping that nothing unsavory will happen during the rest of the tourney.

She really needs to learn to stop hoping for things like that.

~X~

That night Ostara dresses slowly and with great care. In an hour she and her family will be travelling to the small keep in Lannisport for the celebratory feast. She doesn't understand it. There will be many feasts in the next few days. One tonight to welcome those who came to honor the new prince, one tomorrow evening after the melee, and then one before the Lords and their families return to their homes.

It's ridiculous.

But she dresses in the gown her mother had gifted her and slips her feet into a pair of black slippers. Wrestling her hair into anything elaborate will take too much time so instead she takes a comb through her curls, plaits some of her hair so that the two braids keep the rest of the wild mass out of her face, and then she spells her hair to keep the humidity from affecting it too harshly.

"Ostara?" Her mother calls from just outside her tent, "Are you ready, pet?"

"Coming mother!"

Ostara turns to Rubeus.

"You'll be good won't you?" Ostara asks as she runs her fingers through her familiar's fur.

His rumble is her only response.

So Ostara places a chaste kiss between his eyes before turning and leaving her tent.

Outside her family waits.

Cassana and Steffon Baratheon wear their house colors in such a way that it compliments them instead of making them look like fools, Stannis has donned a fine doublet or royal blue and silver. They are all equally attractive and Ostara smiles as she moves to stand beside her brother. He smiles back, a thin twist of the lips but it is something.

"Are we ready then? Mustn't be late." Her father states, eyes flicking to where the keep waits in the near distance.

They'll be walking to the keep as it isn't a terribly long distance to walk. Ostara's looking forward to the exercise. But she supposes she understands her father's urging. It wouldn't do for them to be late to the feast, after all.

"Yes, father." She and Stannis reply almost in unison.

Their father smirks.

"Well, come along then."

And he leads them through the labyrinth of dark tents and stables, up a winding stone path, and too the gates of the keep where a man in Lannister red bows to them. Ostara thinks, with more then a little amusement, that the man could be an entertainer if he so wished. He certainly has the grace and flair for the dramatic. But instead of laughing Ostara offers a small smile before following her father and mother into the keep

~X~

"Little sister!" Robert's voice rips through the air just before she is scooped up and spun around in a wide circle.

They're just outside the great hall where dinner and dancing will be held meaning Robert must have been waiting for them in the corridor. It's very sweet of him.

"You're visiting your family I see," Ostara remarks with a smile the moment he sets her back on her feet. "It's about bloody time."

"I promise, I didn't mean to leave you feeling abandoned."

With a smile Ostara shakes her head, steps back, and allows Robert to greet the rest of the family. Once the pleasantries and hugs are given their father ushers them through the doors which open to reveal Lannister banners and extravagance that seems silly. Robert offers his arm to her and Ostara slips her hand into place, allowing him to guide her into the hall with a gentle huff of laughter.

Once they pass the doors Ostara glances around the room.

Rhaegar and his father sit at a long table at the very end of the hall. Tywin sits with them, silent and stone faced as always. It is impossible not to notice Johanna's absence. It is impossible not to miss the King's roaming eyes.

Looking, looking, looking for a woman who will never be his to touch.

It is sad.

Pitiful.

Ostara is glad he has yet to spot her, glad his son seems disinterested, glad Tywin was smart enough to keep his wife away from a man who wants her to the point of obsession.

Thankfully her father guides their little party to a table not far from the Targaryens.

It would be preferable if Ostara were able to talk to Rhaegar about any possible betrothals before interacting with his father but she supposes there's nothing she can do about it now anyway.

Ostara takes a seat between her brothers. She is fully aware of the eyes on her. Not like the curious gazes of Lords and Ladies who wish to look at the girl with the shadowcat, the girl with the purple eyes. No, whoever is staring at her is not trying to be subtle.

It is likely Aerys, or Tywin, or perhaps even a Kingsguard member.

 _Don't look_ , she clenches a fist in her skirts, _don't look_.

She doesn't.

Around her maids and servants deliver food and wine to the tables of Lord and Ladies. Ostara watches them, smiles whenever one comes to serve her or her family. The kindness makes many of the servants blush. Perhaps unused to such blatant shows of gratitude from a woman so much higher in the social order then they are. It's a damn shame.

Minutes later, perhaps fifteen or twenty, Tywin Lannister stands and the hall falls silent.

Lords do not jape, women do not simper, children do not laugh, and the servants do not move.

Still, still, still, the hall is entirely too _still_.

"Lords and Ladies, thank you for attending the tourney. May the Gods smile upon you this night." Tywin greets, the politeness of his tone obviously forced.

She wonders what Aerys said to him.

Wonders if it had something to do with Johanna.

"Tonight we celebrate the joyous birth of a prince. May Prince Viserys live long and prosperously."

Short, simple, to the point.

No one ever said Tywin Lannister would beat around the bush.

But those eyes are still on her. Those fucking eyes that must surely belong to Rhaegar Targaryen for who else would care so much as to stare at her so intently. Ostara keeps her attention firmly only the Hand of the King as he finishes his speech to the applause and congratulatory cheers of Lords and Ladies.

Soon she will have to exchange pleasantries with Rhaegar. But not yet. Right now she is free to eat and laugh with her family.

Unfortunately for her, ignoring Rhaegar Targaryen proves to be exceedingly difficult.

He has a way of drawing people in, making them want to be in his presence. It starts when a Minstrel brings a finely made harp to the center of the hall upon the orders of a Lord who is already well into his cups. The men and women around her all but beg for him to sing, to play a song of such beauty that it moves even the gods to tears.

When Rhaegar finally relents it is after his father's hissed demand that he please the people who have come to wish their family congratulations.

Ostara watches him as he makes his way to the center of the hall.

Silver hair is unbound and falling around his shoulders like spider silk. So fine and surprisingly thick that Ostara finds herself fascinated with the way is sways about his shoulders. He is dressed in a red doublet, the outline of ebony scales embroidered onto his sleeves. Fitting though it may be Ostara finds herself mildly annoyed by the choice in clothing. Crimson and ebony are too harsh for his coloring. Ostara thinks he would look much more dashing in softer colors. Dusty reds, dove greys, and the colors of a dawn sky.

But... He does not look unattractive in his house colors.

In fact, Rhaegar Targaryen looks oddly fierce.

Ostara will later blame it on his cheek bones and the intensity of his eyes as his fingers begin to dance along the harp's strings.

And he truly is talented.

Blessed with nimble fingers and passion for his music.

It makes... It makes Ostara think of a boy with cracked glasses and another boy with fire for hair, it makes her think of winter nights spent around a roaring fire as the last of her peers left to see their families for the holidays, it makes her think of a life lost to her but never forgotten. She even finds herself thinking of other, vaguely familiar faces that she barely remembers.

It's a bittersweet thing.

When Rhaegar stops playing his smiles and bows to the crowd, eyes scanning the hall.

They stop on Ostara.

Stop and linger far longer then necessary before moving on.


	19. Soon, But Not Yet

He wonders, in the roar of applause and the distant sound of shaking breaths being sucked in between quivering lips, if this is what people meant when they spoke of Ostara Baratheon. Wonders if the intensity of her eyes is what prompted Lords and Ladies to whisper about her oddness. Rhaegar would not be surprised if it were the reason for her eyes are unlike anything he's seen before.

When she'd first entered the hall Rhaegar had watched her, his friend and confidant, the girl who wrote him pages upon pages just to speak of her day.

He can admit that she is brilliant, more brilliant then even some of the great Maesters and scholars whose books lay used and worn in Rhaegar's personal chambers. But surely it is not her brilliance that the Lords and Ladies of the realm find odd.

But if not her eyes then what?

What about her had snagged his father's attention so? Tywin Lannister's attention so?

He cannot fathom it, perhaps because he knows Ostara well enough to call her a friend. But still, he watches her as Tywin congratulates his family on Viserys' birth, watches her as she smiled at servants, watches as she manged to get the typically stoic Baratheon son to chuckle at something she'd said that must have been rather funny. He even watches her from the corner of his eyes as he'd played the borrowed harp.

Whatever had fascinated his father and Lord Tywin enough to keep his interest fixated on the Baratheon girl Rhaegar had not known. Not at first. Not until now.

Now he understands.

There is a certain intensity to Ostara Baratheon. It's all in her eyes. Eyes that are too sharp, too focused, too knowing. Rhaegar thinks that she should not have eyes like that... For even when she offers a smile, perhaps forced or perhaps not, her eyes are still sharp enough to cut Rhaegar to the very bone. And while he knows she is intelligent, more intelligent then many full grown men, they have never spoken or truly met outside of the letters they'd taken to writing all those months ago.

Not since they were children in any case.

Vaguely, he wishes they'd had more opportunities to meet in person. It would have been less unsettling, he thinks, if he knew what Ostara was thinking. Knew what the little subtleties of her face that hinted at what she was thinking in regards to the woman currently speaking to her mother or the tourney or his music.

He is released from her stare when Arthur steps between them, smiling too broadly and too happily and Rhaegar considers Arthur a good friend but he isn't sure he appreciated the look in his off-purple eyes.

"Pretty thing," Arthur says when the lords and ladies around them have begun to speak loud enough to drown out their conversation. "Very polite."

"You've met I take it."

He ignores the irritation that tries to bubble up in his chest.

"Just yesterday, I came across the Lady Ostara and her pet exploring the tourney grounds.

 _Pet_.

The way Arthur says it is amusing. Like he isn't sure whether he's terrified of the shadowcat or enchanted by it.

Personally, Rhaegar finds himself rather weary of the beast.

He still remembers what happened the last time Baratheons went to Felwood.

Ostara Baratheon's shadowcat had crushed a man's skull, bit down until skin split and the bone gave way beneath the pressure. Unrecognizable, a head made of mush, mutilated. All things Rhaegar had heard whenever someone spoke of that damned shadowcat.

A man with a crushed skull and several unidentifiable bodies.

A frown tugs at the corner of his mouth.

If his friend has a shadowcat that is so obviously loyal to her that it would protect her with such ferocity what does that say about her?

Like calls to like, after all.

"I find it hard to believe you just happened across her." Rhaegar replies, fingers idly stroking the intricate carving running up the pillar of the harp he's still standing beside.

Arthur shrugs.

"I was curious."

Curious.

Of course he was curious. Arthur Dayne, while a good friend and confidant, has always been too curious for his own good. It'll get him killed one day if he's not careful... But Rhaegar can't fault Arthur for his curiosity when it comes to Ostara Baratheon.

A quick glance at the girl shows that she has been brought before the king.

Something in Rhaegar's stomach knots as he watches his father interact with the girl who will likely be his wife one day.

Pale lavender eyes rake up and down Ostara's figure as Aerys speaks about something rather personal if the tension in the girl's shoulders is anything to go by. Rhaegar can only imagine what he's saying. Something inappropriate no doubt. His father has never been able to hold his tongue, whether he's well into his cups or no. It does not help that his friend has been left alone in the presence of Aerys.

But Tywin lingers alongside Lord Steffon. Both men hover at the very end of the long table his father had insisted be brought. If Rhaegar hadn't been looking he wouldn't have thought anything of it but he is and the two men are only just far enough away to offer the appearance of privacy to the King. Rhaegar watches for a moment longer before stepping around Arthur and making his way over to the put an end to whatever conversation Aerys is forcing the girl to endure.

"And my son's song? You enjoyed it?" He hears his father ask.

"I found it quite entertaining, your grace." Is her reply.

Rhaegar steps up beside Ostara and when his father notices him something in those glassy eyes turns sharp and angry. There is only one reason his father would be so annoyed with Rhaegar's presence and the prince stops himself from reaching out, curling his hand around Ostara's arm, and pulling her closer. He does not have the liberty to do so.

Not yet.

Perhaps not ever.

"I'm sorry to interrupt but I fear we've yet to be reacquainted." He says to the girl with the vivid purple eyes.

He does not reference the letters he has kept hidden away or the book she had sent to him nearly four moons ago. He does not say anything because his father does not know and what is the point in bringing it up before him when it is none of his business anyway?

She offers a tense smile and curtsies as is custom.

"An unfortunate circumstance I'm afraid."

His father scoffs, "Leave me, there is much I wish to discuss with my hand and my cousin."

Rhaegar takes the opportunity to guide Ostara away from his father with a gentle smile and a hand curled around her elbow. It is the only liberty he will allow himself. The only one she will let him take, no doubt.

Once they're away from Aerys and his eyes and his ever growing interest in Ostara, which Rhaegar finds vaguely disturbing as he's not sure what his father's interest is exactly, the prince turns to face Ostara and finds her staring at him.

Up close, her eyes are not so much intense as they are unnerving.

"I suppose I should thank you." Ostara remarks, tone dry but the smile curling her lip seems genuine enough.

"No thanks are necessary, Lady Ostara."

 _I did not want you near my father_ , he wants to say, _he is known to take interest in fair maidens that peak his interest_.

"Well, thank you none-the-less." Ostara turns her head toward the raised dais upon which his father is speaking with Tywin and Steffon.

Silence fills the air between them. It is not uncomfortable, it is rather peaceful. This is a silence that allows them to study one another away from prying eyes and whispers. Rhaegar is thankful for this opportunity as it allows him to truly observe his friend.

She is tall, but not so tall as him, the top of her head only coming to his chin. He suspects she'll grow a bit more as she's still young and Baratheons do not tend to be small in their stature. Her hair is long and the curls seem soft despite their wildness, she's inherited her mother's mouth and her father's jaw, and slender fingers.

Fingers that were made for music and art.

"I congratulate you on the birth of the Prince. I'm sure your mother is happy," Ostara says and this time she's smiling.

"Delighted."

"I am glad." It is said with a smile that softens the acute sharpness of her eyes.

And it sounds so genuine. So different from the vultures who had congratulated his parents and himself for Viserys birth but whispered about infidelity when his mother mourned the loss of her children. This girl has never spoken of infidelity or betrayal, her eyes are not cold with malice, she does not simper at him or bat her eyes as she speaks as if she were expecting her admittance of her pleasure to garner his affections.

He remembers his mother speaking of Ostara. Telling him about a girl with ancient eyes and a heart like liquid sunshine.

He'd thought it all terribly poetic. Thought that perhaps his mother, in her grief over another lost babe, had latched onto the girl who would one day be her good daughter. They'd been barely acquainted then and even though Rhaegar knew she was kind but had doubted she was as kind as his mother claimed. Even as they continued their correspondence Rhaegar had wondered whether her kindness was a lie.

Rhaegar was wrong to think such things.

"I think," He says after a long moment, "that we should talk."

"About the betrothal our parents are tying to arrange? Yes, I agree we should." Ostara says.

"You knew then?" Rhaegar asks, not entirely sure why he's surprised.

"Not until just recently."

Silence settles in the space between them.

Rhaegar isn't sure what to say or do. Nothing has been finalized, they might never be betrothed, though Rhaegar knows his father probably end up getting his way in the end. No one can truly refuse the King without consequences and Lord Baratheon is Aerys' cousin too. It's very likely that when Ostara is old enough to marry she will be married to him.

"I wasn't aware," Rhaegar finds himself saying, "but I suspected."

"Can I be frank?" Ostara asks.

"When are you not?"

She gives him a look but doesn't comment on his poorly timed joke.

"I don't know how I feel about this, Rhaegar. I'm not chattel, I won't be sold and bought." He somehow suspected she'd say that and he finds he's not offended in the slightest. "You're my friend, Rhaegar, and I don't want to spoil that."

"We don't have to talk about this now if you don't want to." Rhaegar says, "There's time to discuss it later. Right now no one is expecting anything from either of us."

Ostara stares at him for a long moment, lips pursed, before she nods.

"We do need to talk about it though Rhaegar. This is a decision that will effect both of our lives in one way or another." She says.

"I know and we will. But not right now." Rhaegar offers her a smile before turning his attention to the men and women dancing.

Beside him Ostara's stiffness melts away and he feels bad that he hadn't even realized she was so uncomfortable. Then, rather suddenly, she's smiling at him and asking if he'd dance with her. He's almost taken aback by the forwardness of it but finds himself smiling and leading her out onto the floor seconds later.

~X~

Later, after the Lords have left and Rhaegar has returned to his tent the prince lays across his cot and thinks about Ostara Baratheon.

Rhaegar sighs. There will be no sleep for him tonight. An unfortunate occurrence but one he is used to. He has spent many nights lately lying awake in his bed wondering about the future of his kingdom.

He wishes he had Ostara's ease of mind. He wishes he had her innocence. Unfortunately he is not so lucky and the weight of so much rests upon his shoulders. He wonders if Maggy the Frog would be able to do anything about it? Help him to understand the prophecy he'd found scrawled across aged, crumbling parchment in a book long since forgotten in the libraries of the Red Keep.

From what Rhaegar understands the Prince that was Promised would be born from a union of ice and fire.

The Prince that was Promised would be born of his blood.

But how can that be?

 _Ice and fire_.

Rhaegar presses his lips together before rolling off the bed and slowly making his way to the small table in his tent with only the use of dim torchlight slipping through the flap of his tent to light his way.

Once he's reached the table Rhaegar lights the candle, watches the flame flicker and weave before burning strong. Without thought he holds his palm above the candle so that the flame licks and whispers at his flesh. There is heat but there is no pain, no damage left on the skin when Rhaegar pulls his hand away.

 _Yes_ , he thinks, _a union of Ice and Fire indeed_.

Unfortunately there is a problem.

Ostara Baratheon is not born of ice.

And yet... And yet...

Rhaegar runs a hand through his hair, tugging at the loose strands, and blows out the candle before returning to his cot.

Sleep does not come for some time. Rhaegar tosses and turns and sighs with every minute that slips by. Outside he can hear guards talking, laughing, making bawdy jokes as they do their patrols.

 _Go to sleep,_ he tells himself, _sleep will do you some good_.

And after what seems like hours Rhaegar's mind finally slows enough for sleep to claim him.

~X~

He dreams of a King's Landing, of the Red Keep, of Maegor's Holdfast.

There is a room that is vaguely familiar too him but he can't be sure because there is nothing but blinding white light flying through the window, reflecting off of every shining surface in the room.

Rhaegar flinches away from the light, twisting to lay on his side, and comes face to face with a child.

It is enough to startle him. Enough to make him jerk away from the little body curled up in the space between him and-

"Stop." A voice, rough with sleep, cuts through the white light. "You will wake her."

He does, stop that is.

Because he knows that voice. He'd only just spent the past evening speaking with the owner. Of course, Ostara Baratheon sounds older now but it is still her voice. Without realizing it Rhaegar relaxes just enough to settle into the pillows. He squints into the white light, only managing to just make out Ostara's figure. There is nothing distinguishable.

Not even the child, who is merely half a foot from him, is distinguishable.

Everything about them is washed out by the white light that fills the room.

"What is this?" Rhaegar asks even though he feels like a fool.

"This is us."

"Us?"

"Yes., our legacy."

"I do not understand."

"Hmm... Go to sleep, Rhaegar."

 _No_ , he wants to bark, _I will not sleep_.

He wants answers.

But there is a grey haze at the edges of the white light that grows darker and darker and darker until their is nothing but empty black space and a voice like fog and mist and wind brushing dead leaves across stone floors whispering about battle and monsters and a girl with magic in her veins.

~X~

When he wakes up in the morning it is to the hum of activity and the smell of food waiting on his table. Rhaegar rubs the sleep from his eyes, rolls over, reaches for... Something.

He frowns.

Aside from the smell of bacon and the unmistakable signs that Arthur had been in his tent Rhaegar can find nothing out of place or moved from their original spots. Which means that no one had entered his tent to steal from him while he slept. And he certainly hadn't slept with anything within grasp save his sword, but he had placed that at the foot of his cot _not_ beside him and when he looks he confirms that the sword has not fallen.

Perhaps it was his dream. He can't remember it, of course, but he believes that the lingering sense of something missing is merely a product of his imagination.

It gives him some peace of mind as he rises from his cot to dress and eat.

Breakfast is simple. Toast, bacon, and eggs. He eats it quickly and covers the tray before turning to step out of his tent where finds Arthur and Ser Selmy waiting. He offers both a soft smile, barely that really, and moves to secure his scabbard.

"Your highness." Ser Selmy greets.

"Sleep well did you?" Arthur asks, eyes bright with mischievous glee.

Rhaegar wonders if he might have said something earlier when Arthur entered his tent. Assuming he doesn't talk in his sleep would be foolish but he hopes that if he had spoken while still in the throes of his dreams that whatever was said would not be... Too embarrassing.

"Well enough." Rhaegar replies.

And Arthur's smile turns downright feral.

"Good, you'll need all the energy you can get if you want to impress your _friend_. I hear she absolutely hates the melees." Arhur chortles.

"Yes, I am aware of Lady Ostara's disinterest." Rhaegar admits.

Something in Arthur's eyes dim, "You don't seem too disappointed."

"The tourneys are a way to entertain the people, Arthur, it is not my place to be upset over whether or not someone enjoys them."

Arthur opens his mouth but Ser Selmy steps forward, hand on the pommel of his sword.

"We'd best be going," it is not a suggestion, "much to do in so little time to do it before the tourney begins."

Neither of them argue. Neither of them would dare. Because Barristan Selmy is their friend and their mentor and he is a fierce warrior. If Rhaegar were a lesser man, a weaker man, he would almost fear Barristan Selmy.

But he does not and so it is with a nod that he turns to make his way to the tourney grounds.


	20. Secrets of the Sea

There is a smear of blood streaked from the center of the man-made arena to the area where the knights and Lords participating in the melee are waiting. A maester is kneeling over the green Knight who'd only just moments ago been fighting a man sworn to House Tyrell.

It's not good.

Already the blood coloring the sand is congealing, turning a strange rust color as it mixes with the sand and dries.

Ostara looses sight of the poor boy when two more knights step out to draw the crowd's attention away from the dying knight in the grass that's choking on his blood. If Ostara were able to get to him before he died without anyone spotting her she'd be able to save him. Hermione Granger might have been an Unspeakable but she'd been a practiced healer too.

Perhaps not classically trained but a severed carotid artery would have been easy for her to fix.

Unfortunately, Ostara is stuck in the stands between her stern eyed father and a pale Noble Lady who looks like she might be sick any moment. Without much thought Ostara leans over to speak with her father.

"Father," Ostara whispers just loudly enough to be heard over the gasps and clang of metal, "will they not postpone the tourney? Seek the knight medical aid?"

"No pet, they will not." Is her father's terse reply.

Ostara has a thing or two to say about that but she knows this is neither the time nor the place and so she settles back on the bench, tries not to stare at the blood or the boy or the way the maester's hands tremble with his age.

 _He is safe in my arms, sweet eyed savior._

She does not turn to look at the being hovering over her shoulder. But then, she doesn't need to. Because Phil is already kneeling in the dirt, reaching out with a spindly finger to brush across the dead knight's wound. Ostara watches as something very similar to a ghost but with, perhaps, a bit less substance rises from the dead knight's body.

Without much thought Ostara allows her gaze to drift over the people who have come to settle around the maester.

Arthur Dayne is there, so are a few other Kingsguard Knights that Ostara doesn't quite recognize. None of them seem to be aware of Phil or the dead knight's soul. None of them seem to care. Ostara isn't entirely sure why she's so surprised.

Death is a fact of life in this world.

There is no elongated life span, no advanced medical technologies that can bring people back from the brink of death. In this world something as simple as the flu could kill you without a maester's remedies and even then it's a gamble. It shouldn't come as a shock that the maester had been unable to fix the cut artery.

A freak accident, but an accident that cost a boy his life.

Ostara glances as the knight who'd cut the boy. He doesn't seem all that remorseful. He doesn't seem to care.

 _Fact of life_ , Ostara thinks as she turns her attention back to the melee.

Ser Barristan Selmy is fighting against a knight from the Riverlands. He's a wonderful fighter in Ostara's opinion, tactical and reasonable, there is no flashy spin of his sword nor cutting words. Ostara respects that, appreciates it even. She thinks, in a sort of distant way, that she could enjoy the melee if all of the soldiers participating fought the same way ser Selmy does.

Like it's an actual fight.

Like one misstep could get someone killed.

When Ser Selmy finally beats the opposing knight Ostara claps, a small smile tugging at her mouth.

"You enjoyed the fight then?" Her father asks when he sees Ostara clapping.

"Hardly," is the dry response, "but I can appreciate a knight who fights with practicality."

Her father laughs, a gentle little chortle that makes Ostara smile widely.

Practicality, it's something Ostara preaches quite often. Especially to Daevyn. What's the point of swinging a jeweled sword around when you run the risk of loosing a sapphire in the dirt? It had made Daevyn laugh but the next day he'd given her a dagger with a simple pommel to train with and she thought that maybe he'd at least taken her seriously.

She wonders if Rhaegar would take her seriously as well.

It would all depend on the situation she thinks.

When her friend finally steps out of the shaded area where the knights wait and into the arena, sunlight glinting off of ebony armor, Ostara claps alongside every other Lord and Lady, though not as enthusiastically and certainly not as loudly.

She watches as Rhaegar removes his sword from its sheath, watches as the Westerland knight charges, watches as Rhaegar ducks away from the other knight's blade and brings his own up to block sloppily executed swing from the other knight.

Daevyn Sand has been teaching her for some time now, Ostara knows the difference between a well executed move and a poor one. She also knows when someone isn't paying attention. The Westerland knight is older then Rhaegar, he's fought in wars, and it shows in every swing and jab of his sword. It makes him sloppy. Makes him predictable.

All too soon the westerland knight's sword is lying in the sand beside him, his body brought to its knees by a well delivered kick that has knocked the wind from him.

Ostara watches as Rhaegar pulls off his helm with one hand and offers the other to the knight on the ground.

People are cheering, clapping, roaring their approval of Rhaegar as he helps the other knight to his feet. Ostara claps alongside them.

Rhaegar smiles, a soft twist of the lips that Ostara finds mildly endearing, and bows his head to the masses which only makes them cheer louder. But while everyone else is focused on Rhaegar, Ostara is looking at Aerys.

The King is not pleased.

He sits on his makeshift throne, a petulant frown marring his features, and claps slowly. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that the King is jealous of the praise and attention Rhaegar gets from both nobles and common folk alike.

 _This_ , Ostara thinks as she turns her attention away, _could be a problem_.

For it is fairly possible Aerys will fall to the Targaryen madness and then what? His jealousy of Rhaegar will only grow and with another son tucked safely in King's Landing what won't be seen as a threat for years to come who's to say the king won't do something drastic?

Ostara presses her lips into a firm line and forces the thought to the back of her mind.

She can deal with it later, deal with Aerys and his possibly impending madness later, but for the moment she'll watch the melee and try not to think about the possibility of Rhaegar turning out just as mad as his father.

~X~

"I'm going to take Rubeus for a walk." Ostara tells her parents later that day.

They've only just returned from the melee. Ostara isn't sure who won, some knight from the Reach, but it had been a relatively interesting match between the champion and the knight who'd lost. Even Stannis had mentioned it as their small family had made its way back to the tents.

"Very well, be safe." Her father says, eyes hard.

Ostara nods obediently before darting to her own tent to fetch the waiting familiar from where he is resting on her cot.

When she enters through the flap separating her tent from her parents' Rubeus raises his head, eyes knowing, and slowly climbs off the bed. Ostara moves closer so she can drag her fingers through his fur before moving to the small table where her jewelry box rests. She pulls of the heavy gold she'd chosen to wear that morning and drops the pieces in the velvet lined inside of the jewelry box.

Near the entrance of the tent Rubeus yowls at her.

"You're a child." Ostara mutters as she shuts the lid of her jewelry case.

Rubeus paces back and forth in front of the entrance before shooting outside when Ostara pulls open the flap. She follows behind, careful to keep an eye on her familiar but not attempting to stop him as he bounces around on the path in front of her.

Squires and servants give them both wide berth, not wanting the large Shadowcat to accidentally knock them to the ground or to somehow anger the young Lady following behind. Ostara smiles at a few of them but doesn't linger long enough to strike up a conversation of any sort. Instead she follows Rubeus until they reach the last of the tents at which point she calls him back to her side.

He rubs his head against her thighs and hips, circling her body over and over again until Ostara's forced to shove him away. With a rumble from the familiar Ostara leads him through the short bit of forest they end up having to wander through before they reach the white sands of the beach.

A glance around shows that there isn't anyone around except her. Everyone who would come this way are either preparing for the feast or heading to the taverns in Lannisport instead. Ostara still erects a few barriers though, little things that will keep anyone intending to harm her away and notify her if anyone comes within one hundred feet of her little stretch of beach.

When all of the barriers are erected and Ostara feels safe enough to let down her guard, she wonders over toward where the ocean is turning the sand a pale off-sort-of-grey and sits down in the sand to watch as Rubeus trots over to the water's edge.

He bats at the receding waves with a giant paw, face twisting in shock when the water slips away from him. His eyes are wide when he turns to look at her, as if seeking some sort of confirmation, but his attention is soon grabbed by something in the water which causes him to pounce into the shallows of the ocean.

Ostara watches for several minutes before pulling off her shoes and the leather covering her waist. It's been so long since she's had an opportunity to swim. The ocean bordering Storm's End is turbulent at best, dangerous no matter what. Only fools would dare to swim in those waters. Even ships wait until there is a semblance of calm before attempting to navigate them.

But the waters here are calm and warm and Ostara wades further away from shore with a sense of security she would never have at home.

All the same, she casts a spell on herself to keep her from drifting off to sea and keeps her wand on her just in case. Because it's better to be prepared for the worse then to be prepared for nothing at all.

Closer to shore Rubeus bounces through the water, pounces on his reflection, and tries to catch whatever manages to obtain his focus. Ostara watches him for several moments before moving to float on her back. Above her the sky is blue with the beginning tinges of pink and orange mixed here and there, occasionally a bird with colorful feathers with fly over her head, but for the most part it is silent.

Calm.

Ostara closes her eyes, fingers skimming through the water, sunlight warming her skin.

She thinks that if things were different and she'd been born a common girl instead of a high born lady then there would be nothing keeping her on land. She'd get herself a ship, a familiar, and she'd just travel. Sail from this place to that place and see what the world had to offer without having to worry about duties or family. Mostly her family. Stannis would never abandon his duties as a son of Storm's End and Ostara would never just leave him.

 _Plunk._

Something moves through the water beneath her causing Ostara to jerk up out of her position.

For a moment she thinks it's a shark, for a moment she considers whipping out her wand and hauling ass back to shore, but Ostara's a smart, logical girl and after a moment of careful deliberation she decides that it isn't a shark. Whatever is in the water with her is too big to be a shark.

 _Get back to shore_ , Ostara thinks as she begins moving back to where Rubeus is digging in the sand. He seems so far away, so small, and Ostara begins to wonder if her spell is working or if she'd been pulled into open waters.

Either way, she begins swimming back as calmly and as smoothly as she can.

Because whatever's in the water with her is likely hungry and frantic movements mean food for most predators.

It doesn't matter though, Ostara only makes it a few feet before every hair the back of her neck stands on end. There is, and Ostara is very aware of this, something in the water behind her. Something that hasn't attacked yet. Something she can defend herself against. Without thinking Ostara turns to face whatever has decided to see if she'd be good entertainment.

She... Isn't expecting to come face to face with intelligent black eyes that regard her more curiously then anything.

"Hello." Ostara greets, voice weak even to her own ears.

The creature rises further out of the water so that she can see more of it's head, which allows Ostara to identify her newfound companion. It's a sea dragon. One of the very creatures Ostara thought to be extinct... She'd laugh at her own foolishness if the situation were different.

But the sea dragon, with it's angular body and bio luminescent scales glinting in the water beneath them, doesn't move to attack. It doesn't do much of anything really. Just kind of sits there in the water waiting for Ostara to do something. She doesn't, of course, even if her arms and legs are getting tired from keeping her head above water.

They just... Stare at each other.

Ostara isn't sure where the bravery comes from but she finds herself reaching out to let her hand hover in the empty space between them.

She can make herself a new hand, but she thinks it won't come to that.

With slow movements the sea dragon presses it's snout against Ostara's palm and for a moment there is nothing but magic and the crackle of static and gentle warmth.

 _Like calls to like, I suppose,_ she remembers Kingsley saying when she'd run into a wizard that the minister had meant to introduce her to, _or power to power_.

Ridiculous though the statement might have been at the time Ostara thinks there's something honest about it. Especially now when this creature, older then she is and far more deadly, is taking comfort in the magic saturating her body. It's starving, unable to take nutrients from the magic of others of its kind because, well, there probably aren't many left.

Stories, after all, hold some truth to them and most people believe that Sea Dragons have been extinct for hundreds of years.

"Rhaegar, wait!"

Ostara whips around as the voice reaches her ears, behind her there is a loud splash and when she looks back the sea dragon is gone. Nothing to verify it ever having been there at all save for the magic lingering in the air and Ostara's memory.

With a sigh she turns and makes her way back to shore just as Rhaegar Targaryen and Arthur Dayne appear on the beach.

Rubeus growls at them, hackles rising, and Ostara watches as both men stiffen at the sight of bared fangs and wild eyes. She rolls her eyes as she steps out of the water.

"Enough." The command is firm, leaving no room for disobedience, and Rubeus turns away from the two men in order to move to his master's side.

Arthur relaxes, a dazzling smile stretching across his face, and when he sees her he cries, "Lady Ostara! We did not see you!"

"Well," Ostara replies as she begins twisting the excess water out of her hair, then her clothes, "I was further out so I would suspect not."

"Dangerous, don't you think, to be swimming away from shore?" His tone is jovial but his eyes are worried.

Ostara snorts, "No more dangerous then playing with swords, Lord Dayne."

"And yet I have been trained to play with swords."

"I've noticed." Ostara flings wet hair over her shoulder, crosses her arms, and smiles. "Congratulations are in order I suspect, to you both, for your respective triumphs at the melee."

"You were there." It is not a question but it is the first thing Rhaegar has said to her since the feast the night before.

"Yes, I was."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"It was tolerable."

"I see."

From the corner of her eye Ostara sees Arthur's shoulders sag as he releases a silent breath.

He is disappointed. But at who? And for what reason? Surely he hadn't been hoping that Rhaegar would engage in a flirtatious conversation with her while in his presence, not when she is still considered so young. Perhaps he'd hoped that any interactions between her and Rhaegar would be a bit less formal. More personal. It would make more sense for him to be disappointed then.

"Do you enjoy swimming, Lady Ostara?" Arthur inquires after a moment.

"Yes, unfortunately it's hardly safe to go swimming near Storm's End."

"I would think not."

Silence stretches between the three of them, growing more and more awkward the longer they stand there. Eventually Ostara realizes that neither men are going to say much else and so she taps the palm of her hand against the outside of her thigh, causing Rubeus' head to jerk in her direction and quickly after rise up from where he'd stretched out in the sun-warmed sand.

Ostara offers the two men a polite grin after she's grabbed her shoes and her belt.

"Well, I'd best be going." She moves to step past them, only stopping when Rhaegar reaches out to snag hold of her sleeve.

"Allow us to escort you, Lady Ostara." Rhaegar offers when Ostara whips around to smile kindly at him.

"If it please you, your highness."

Rhaegar nods once and offers his arm. Ostara merely raises an eyebrow, glancing between his finely embroidered doublet and her own soaked clothing. A blush, pale pink and barely noticeable, stains his cheeks but he still offers her his arm. And after a brief moment of pause Ostara takes it, tucking her hand in the crook of his elbow, careful to keep the cuff of her sleeve from touching anything.

The smile Rhaegar gives her is soft, maybe even a bit surprised, and Ostara finds that he looks much more handsome when he's smiling then when he's not.

She thinks she'd like to see many more of those smiles.

~X~

Gold silk, Ostara decides as she allows a young knight to guide her through the hall in a dance, is perhaps a bit too bold for her tastes.

The fabric seems to catch the light offered by the various candles and torches scattered around the hall to offer light to the dimming room. Catches it and holds it, reflecting it back at the crowd in shades of muted orange and pale red. It'd be pretty if there wasn't a potentially mad man staring at her from across the hall.

Every time her dance partner swings her around the room Aerys manages to catch her eye, every time she's turned away his gaze follows her, it's disconcerting.

Creepy.

It makes Ostara's skin crawl.

But what is she to do right now? Curse him? Right, that would go well for her.

Ostara tries not to grind her teeth or clench her jaw or glare at the knight dancing her around the hall. He's from the Stormlands after all and wouldn't deserve to be harassed even if he wasn't. Still, she wishes he'd keep her away from the ridiculously long table where Rhaegar and his father are sitting. But as there's nothing she can really do about it Ostara just has to deal with it.

The moment the song ends Ostara curtsies to her partner before rushing back to where she'd last seen Stannis.

Thankfully he's still there, scowl and all. Ostara smiles sweetly as she moves to nudge her brother's shoulder. He glowers at her.

"Stop it, this is supposed to be enjoyable." Ostara laughs.

"Enjoyable to whom?"

Ostara glances around the hall.

Lords and Ladies are dancing, knights are drinking, and servants are weaving between people to bring wine and food to guests. Some of the common women are being perused by Lords but as none of them seem terribly disinterested in the attention Ostara doesn't see the need to interfere with any possible couplings.

"Let's leave." Ostara suggests.

"What?"

"Mother and Father are otherwise preoccupied and no one would notice if we left."

Stannis gives her a look of blatant disbelief but nods anyway. Before they leave Ostara makes sure to catch her parents' gazes before she smiles and leads Stannis to a side door where servants have been entering and exiting the hall. She casts a notice-me-not over the two of them before they even reach it but not before their parents catch her intention to leave through the servants entrance. They slip through undetected by anyone in the hall, servants and noble alike, and quickly make their way through the side corridors until they eventually find a door that leads to the courtyard.

Once there, the two of them make their way to the labyrinth of tents.

They end up hiding out in Stannis' tent.

In the privacy of her brother's tent Ostara pulls her wand out, twirls it between her fingers, and finally flicks it at her empty hand.

Gentle light fills the space, a by product of the little blue flame that has appeared in the palm of her hand, hovering like a firefly. Ostara watches the flickering light for a long moment before turning her attention to Stannis. He looks fascinated.

"Will you tell him? The Prince, I mean." Stannis' voice is gentle.

"I'm sure I'll have to eventually."

"Are you afraid?"

"Of course I am."

The look Stannis gives her is oddly fierce.

"Don't be. If you tell him and he reacts poorly then you will always be safe at Storm's End... And if not there then perhaps the Summer Islands or Dorne, maybe even Asshai."

"Why Asshai?"

"Because if anyone can thrive in a place like that it would be you, Ostara." Stannis shakes his head. "You're _tenacious_."

"I think you meant stubborn, Stannis."

"Yes, that too."

Ostara stares at the flame in her palm, moving her hand this way and that so that the flame casts shadows upon the tent walls. Beyond the tent there is drunken laughter and men and women make their way back to the tents. Her parents are likely to have returned, her parents are also likely to be very, very annoyed with her. Ostara finds she can't really bring herself to care all that much.

But she still puts out the flame, still curls her fingers and clenches the flame between a tight fist, purple-grey smoke curling around her hand as she uses her own magic to extinguish the flames.

Darkness fills the tent which earns her an annoyed grunt from Stannis.

Ostara just smiles as she casts another notice-me-not and slips from Stannis' tent and back to her own.


	21. Magic and Fire and Blood

Things get interesting a few days later.

The Tourney ends, the King gives a speech about prosperity and wealth, and then the noble houses are packing up their things and preparing for the journey back to their various homes. Ostara finds herself wandering while the servants load her family's belongings into carts. There's nothing better to do. So Ostara wanders, playing with Rubeus and trying to ignore the fact that there is a woman following her through what is left of the encampment.

Pretending to take interest in one of Rubeus' less amusing antics Ostara casts a glance at the woman from the corner of her eye.

Tall, slender, too much red.

Ostara purses her lips, presses her hand against the knife hidden in her skirt, and slowly begins making her way to a more secluded area where she can better confront the woman. If she follows, that is. Ostara could be wrong about the fact that the woman is stalking her. And if she's not wrong about that then there's a possibility that the woman isn't actually trying to hurt her.

Either way, Ostara isn't taking any chances.

Once she's out of the woman's sight Ostara slips her hand into the hidden pocket of her skirts, grabs the knife, and pulls it out. She's careful not to accidentally stab herself or Rubeus with it.

It doesn't take long for the woman to amble past, a few minutes maybe, and the moment Ostara gets the chance she lunges out of her hiding spot, grabs the woman by the writ, twists her arm up behind her back, and presses her against a tree with the blade of her knife pressed very carefully to the space between two of her ribs.

"Who are you?" Ostara demands, breath ghosting over the woman's pale neck.

She does not ignore the fact that the woman practically shivers beneath her. Not tremble. Shiver. Like she isn't afraid of the knife against her skin or the shadowcat growling lowly off to the side. Ostara grits her teeth and presses the woman against the tree a bit harder.

"My name is Melisandre, I am a servant of R'hllor."

 _R'hllor_ , the name strikes something ancient and primal in her, _R'hllor_.

Ostara pulls away from the woman, just enough to let her turn around.

"Why are you following me?" Ostara demands.

With trembling fingers the woman reaches up and smooths back a piece of Ostara's hair, seemingly unperturbed by the heated glare Ostara is shooting her.

"I was sent by my Lord of Light, to guide you through the coming darkness."

"The what?"

Burning russet eyes narrow slightly as the woman pulls her fingers away from Ostara's face. She looks vaguely annoyed, like Ostara is somehow lacking information she should already possess. But then she remembers Maggy the Frog and her warning.

The seer had only confirmed what Ostara already suspected, something dangerous was lurking in the shadows and somehow she would be the one that ended up dealing with it. Which didn't really bother Ostara. She's been fighting evil for as long as she's lived if any of her dreams are to be believed... And one dream in particular had always struck her as significantly important.

Ostara takes several steps back and allows Rubeus to put himself between her and the other woman.

Just because she doesn't think the woman doesn't want to hurt her doesn't mean Ostara _trusts_ her. Because she doesn't. Not in the slightest.

"You do not know." The woman, Melisandre, mutters.

"Oh, I know a lot of things. You'll just have to be a little more specific." Ostara snaps.

This gets her a bemused little grin and a confident, "You are Azor Ahai come again and it is your destiny to defeat the Others."

 _Sounds about right_ , Ostara thinks bitterly as she shoves her knife back into it's hiding spot.

"Is that seriously the reason you were stalking me?" Ostara demands as she crosses her arms over her chest.

"No." Melisandre replies, leaning back against the tree provocatively.

She's actually very pretty... In a visually striking sort of way.

"Then why?"

"How else was I supposed to meet you?" She inquires, smiling wickedly all the while.

"You could have introduced yourself." Ostara says in response.

The woman shrugs and brushes burning auburn hair over her shoulder. "Perhaps."

Ostara rolls her eyes.

"Well, it was lovely meeting you but I'm afraid I must be going." Ostara gathers her skirt and the moment she's finished talking she pivots on her heel and begins walking away.

The delighted, "We'll be seeing each other soon enough." is very pointedly ignored.

~X~

"Denys Darklyn is refusing to pay his taxes," Steffon says one morning over breakfast, the letter next to his plate all but forgotten. "He has even sent Tywin a petition for a charter."

Ostara swallows the food in her mouth. She has a recollection of Lord Darklyn but it is vague at best and not something she wishes to rely upon. If Stannis were here he would know, she could ask him about it later and he would tell her where she had met the Lord and when, unfortunately her brother has been off to squire for house Morrigen for some time now, which is unfortunate because she has so much to tell him about the auburn haired woman who has somehow integrated herself into Storm's End.

And Renly is far to young to be of any help so there's no point in asking him for his help.

"And why is that?" Cassana inquires, one eyebrow rising toward her hairline.

"Due to the growth of King's Landing trade in Duskendale has dwindled. I suspect he wishes to stop the decline of wealth." Steffon replies.

"He or his Myrish wife, no doubt."

Steffon casts his wife a look but does not go to reprimand her for the implications. There is no one in the room aside from the four of them and Ostara doubts any of the servants would stoop so low as to betray any of the Baratheons by spying on their private conversations. Not that there would be anyone to betray them too. No one that Ostara knows of is fond of Lady Darklyn.

"Tywin has denied Denys the charter."

It's quite for a moment as Cassana wipes drool from Renly's face. He's grown quite a bit, her brother, and has already begun speaking in garbled, broken sentences. Everyone is quite proud of the boy.

"I'm sure Lord Darklyn took that well."

"Hardly, he's already asked Aerys to travel to Duskendale to broker an agreement."

"Will he go?" Cassana's eyes are wide with something Ostara might call angry concern if she didn't know her mother so well.

"Perhaps... Things have been tense of late between Aerys and Tywin."

"Why is that?" Ostara inquires.

Both of her parents look at her, as if only just now remembering she'd been present during the entirety of their conversation. Eventually it is her father who turns and offers an explanation.

"Aerys has made... Less then polite remarks about the Lady Lannister and her babe to Tywin. The situation as a whole has become a form of entertainment among the court."

"Oh."

Yes, oh.

 _Oh_ because she remembers hearing rumors about Aerys insulting Joanna's figure at the tourney in Lannisport all those months ago. That alone had been enough to make Tywin Lannister attempt to resign as Hand. What will happen now that his wife is so vulnerable and his babe is small and his ego is bruised?

"It has driven a wedge between Tywin and Aerys. I suspect my cousin will travel to Duskendale for no other reason then to spite Tywin."

"Tywin is taking this well I suspect." Cassana remarks dryly.

"As well as can be suspected." Is her father's deft reply.

Slowly, the family falls back to more familiar topics of conversation. Aerys and Duskendale pushed to the side but hardly forgotten in favor of discussing Stannis and Robert, who has written to them just recently saying that he is very excited to marry Cersei Lannister for she is a lovely young woman, more radiant then the sun.

Highly unoriginal but no one ever claimed him to be a poet.

And yet, Ostara would rather not receive another raven from her brother filled with nothing but declarations of love for a woman with skin like buttermilk and eyes like emeralds and hair like spun gold.

A woman he's met and loves dearly despite the fact that he has already sired a bastard on some poor girl from the Eyrie.

Ostara thinks, and perhaps she is wrong, that her brother is more in love with the idea of Cersei Lannister then with the girl herself.

For Robert has always been rather romantic... Even if he doesn't actively acknowledge the fact.

The twelve year old sighs, takes a final bite of her porridge, and asks to be excused. Her parents dismiss her with fond smiles, which are easily returned, before turning their attention back to there conversation. Something about crop yield and storms. As she exits the dining room Ostara finds herself wondering if Robert will be knowledgeable enough about the Stormlands to make a good High Lord.

She thinks so.

She hopes so.

She realizes that this is the least of her concerns.

~X~

Melisandre is waiting in her chambers when Ostara enters them, perched upon the chair at her writing desk with a kind of dignity taught to little princesses and princes. Ostara isn't even surprised to see here.

At this point she can readily acknowledge the fact that Melisandre isn't here to preach the word of her Lord of Light.

Well, maybe she is. A little. But mostly her focus has been on Ostara.

"How were your lessons?" Melisandre inquires as she rises from the chair.

"I learned quite a bit." Ostara kicks off her slippers and makes her way over to the vanity where she begins pulling off jewelry. "What are you doing here?"

"Our Lord of Light has shown me another vision."

"And I assume it has something to do with me?"

Melisandre's hand is cool against her cheek as the older woman guides her face toward her.

"The Others are stirring in the far North, waking." Melisandre says before she pulls away and begins making her way to the door.

Ostara watches her go, a pit forming in her stomach as she watches the older woman disappear into the corridor.

The Others, she's been dreaming about them. Ever since Lannisport where she met Melisandre and had her suspicions confirmed. At least now she has an idea of what she's dealing with. She can figure out the best way to handle the problem, research.

If Melisandre's right, and Ostara suspects she is, then there will be so much to do and so little time to see it done.

~X~

A raven arrives at Storm's End three weeks latter from none other then Tywin Lannister. It's delivered by a boy who looks after the ravens, he's visibly pale and his hands have half healed scabs. Ostara thinks they're from the ravens pecking at his exposed flesh or from their talons biting into his skin. Either way, it doesn't seem to hinder him any.

He hands off the letter with a certain steadiness that Ostara finds interesting.

Steffon takes it with a nod, checks the seal, opens the letter, and begins reading. He rereads the letter once, then twice, then his skin goes unnaturally pale.

Suddenly, the storm raging beyond the walls of the keep seems much more ominous then it had moments ago. The patter of rain hitting the windows causes Ostara to stiffen and the crack of thunder that follows a bright flash of white light causes her to flinch.

She's never been scared of storms, living in a place like Storm's End doesn't exactly give you the luxury of all that and her control has gotten much better as well, but she finds herself very afraid now.

"Father," Her voice is not as strong as she would have liked, "is something wrong?"

By now Cassana has turned her attention away from a squalling Renly and to her husband. When she notices the paleness of his skin, the distant horror in his eyes, she passes off the boy and reaches out to snatch the letter form his hand.

"Ostara," her father's voice is strained and her mother is wide eyed with horror, "return to your chambers."

"Father, I don't underst-"

" _Now_ , Ostara, do not make me tell you again."

It is the first time her father has used such a tone with her. Angry and tense with no room for disobedience. Without much of a struggle Ostara rises, eyes flicking between her parents, and nods once before exiting the room. She waits until the door has shut and a servant passes before pulling our her wand and casting a disillusionment. Once that's done she creeks back to the door and presses her wand into the door, muttering spells under her breath until Ostara manages to slip through the heavy wood. It's a nifty little trick but it leaves her feeling heavy. Like she'd jumped into a pool of water wearing heavy wool and fur.

"And what has Tywin told him?" Her mother demands, causing Ostara to startle.

Thankfully neither of her parents notice the ripple in the air, a result of her jerking back to press against the wall.

"What do you think Tywin told him? Denys Darklyn is a thrice damned fool." Her father growls, knuckles white from the grip he has on his chair.

Her mother pressed the knuckle of her index finger to her lip, eyes distant, and she turns her face toward the fire for a moment before turning back to the man sitting in the chair across from her.

"He is a dead man either way, no? If he releases Aerys then he will be executed for treason, if he does not then Tywin will find a way to kill him. Why would he do something as foolish as this?"

"Desperate men had done worse for less... You know this better then anyone."

"Yes but the last time anything like this happened I did not have children to worry about." Cassana snarls.

"They'll be alright, Cassana," Steffon tries to soothe, "no one will touch them."

"How can you be so sure? Robert is in the Eyrie, Stannis is in Crow's Nest, and gods forbid Ostara ever stays in Storm's End."

"What are talking about, Cassana? Ostara has never left the grounds."

Her mother's laugh is bitter.

"She runs off with that Dornish Bastard you've hired to teach her. She does not always remain within the walls of Storm's End!"

"But she never leaves the area surrounding it either," Her father retorts, a low growl. "Do you think anyone would dare to come to our home and take her? Do you think I would allow that?"

Cassana's entire body practically vibrates before she goes entirely too still, shoulders slumping, and says, "I honestly don't know."

The tension that rises between her parents is thick, terribly so, and Ostara remains completely still against the wall. Even when her mother removes herself from the dining room, even when her father rises to follow after his wife.

Ostara remains still and silent against the wall, only removing the disillusionment when she's sure neither of them are planning on returning before she can slip out of the dining room and make her way back to her chambers where she can slip through the wardrobe and reflect on what she heard without having to worry about Melisandre or anyone else coming to disturb her.

~X~

 _Mother_ , she hears the moment she steps through the door of the laboratory, _mother it is time_.

It's not Vanya that speaks to her.

Ostara doesn't know which of her dragons is speaking to her but she knows that it is a male's voice.

Before she can ask what, exactly, it's time for there's a sharp crack that sends Ostara's heart to her toes. The book in her hand tumbles to the ground as she darts over to the fire pit where she drops to her knees and leans over the flame to ensure none of her dragons are harmed.

To her horror three of the eggs are sporting cracks of various sizes.

She runs her fingers over the cracks and lets her magic seep into the egg in an attempt to create some sort of seam that will protect the little dragon. It doesn't work. If anything the cracks get bigger and soon the world is spinning and tilting.

With a startled gasp Ostara's legs go out from under her, knees cracking against stone, shoulder bruising, forehead splitting open as her head connects with one of the stones.

Then nothing at all.

~X~

When she wakes there's a steady weight on her chest, a heat seeping through her tunic.

Groaning, Ostara reaches up to touch the tender spot of her head and is shocked when she feels nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. Prying her eyes open to look at the hand she somehow manages to hold in her line of sight Ostara comes face to face with shimmery milk white scales and pupil-less eyes.

 _Mother, my mother, mine_.

The little dragon moves to curl beneath her chin and tangle itself into blood matted hair.

"What happened?"

 _It was time_ , is the simple reply.

"So you and your buddies decided to siphon my magic from me?" Ostara demands but the pitch of her own voice makes the world tilt dangerously to the right.

 _Not siphon. Never siphon. Never hurt you, mother._

"Then what was that?"

 _Magic._

Ostara groans softly and manages to roll herself out of the congealing pool of blood on the ground. She doesn't think she wants to know how she didn't bleed out all over everything, nor does she want to know who healed her. It was probably the dragon currently taking painstaking efforts to groom her.

"What's your name?" Ostara asks after she's managed to sit up without the threat of passing out again.

 _Milren_ , the little dragon says as his tongue drags across Ostara's cheek just below her eye, _my name is Milren_.


	22. A Thesis on Dragons

Over the next few precious hours Ostara could be sleeping finds the young witch tending to three little dragons that have managed to break out of their eggs. They're the only ones so far, Milren and his siblings. The other eggs haven't shown so much as a single crack but she gets the sense that now that three of the eggs have hatched the other seven will follow close behind.

Ostara rakes a hand through her hair, unintentionally dislodging the little Chinese Fireball that had been curled up on top of her head.

She is not at all prepared for this.

Being educated on something and being prepared it are two very different things. Ostara understands the concept of hatching and raising, there'd been enough information in her journals and what little of her past life she can remember to give her a general sense of what she was supposed to do and what she needed in order to do it.

Magic, heat, space, and food.

But nothing had ever told her how to deal with newly hatched dragons as a human caretaker.

"You need food." Ostara mutters, more to herself then anything, and plucks the Chinese Fireball off of her head.

She, the dragon, screeches loudly and attempts to get back up onto Ostara's head by flapping her wings and wiggling her little body. It doesn't work. The dragons are still a bit too young to fly properly, only managing a shaky hover over the ground.

After Ostara gets them food and a nesting space it will be a little different but first she needs to actually get those things without having to worry about whether or not her dragons are going to fling themselves out the window or something else equally as stupid.

"I'll be back... Just... Just stay here and don't get into any trouble." Ostara practically begs.

It's the Hebridean Black, not the Antipodean Opaleye nor the Chinese Fireball, that answers her with a bird-like tilt of a little scaled head.

 _Yes mother._

"Thank you..." Ostara hesitates by the door.

She should have brought Rubeus, that way she would have had someone to look after the hatchlings while she went off to gather supplies. She'll make sure to do it from now on. Just in case.

Slipping back through the wardrobe is familiar and Ostara slides past the sleeping shadowcat on her bed as she makes her way to the door. Having sneaked through Storm's End a number of times with and without the help of magic Ostara finds that getting out of the castle without the guards seeing her is fairly easy. So is getting into the fruit cellar.

The problem comes with the fact that the cook keeps incredibly detailed lists of what goes into the root cellar lest something go missing.

 _Hopefully_ , Ostara things as she pulls a relatively decent sized slab of meat from the shelf, _they'll think the numbers are off._

After making sure the meat is properly wrapped and spelled to keep from leaking into her back and spoiling Ostara slips out of the root cellar and makes her way back to her chambers where she finds Rubeus staring at the wardrobe door, lips curled and eyes blazing.

Ostara swears as the door pushes open and a little gold and red body pops out of the shadows, tumbling from the wardrobe with all of the grace of a bull in a china shop.

"Fuck, what are you doing here?" Ostara demands, rushing to pull the little dragon off of the floor before it can hurt itself.

Came to find mother.

Ostara sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose very briefly before bringing the dragon to eye level.

The dragon has to curl his tail around her wrist and grab hold of her fingers with his talons in order to fit somewhat comfortably in her hand. She, Ostara thinks it's a she anyway, is a bit too heavy to be held one handed but Ostara manages it.

"Where are the others?"

 _Others?_

"Yes, Melrin and the Hebridean Black?"

 _Melrin? Janus? They are... With the nest that is not._

"You know each other's names?"

Smoke billows out of tiny gold-tinted nostrils.

 _Yes_.

"What's you're then?"

A brief pause before a soft, _Orlaith_.

Ostara's smile seems a bit thin but she tries all the same.

"Alright, let's get back to the others." She says.

Then she turns to Rubeus, who has at some point removed himself from the bed and moved to the wardrobe where he sniffs and growls lowly at the wood. A quick reprimand and an even briefer introduction to the dragon seems to quiet the great cat but Ostara thinks it would be best to get him to the laboratory and introduce him to the others should anything like this happen again.

Taking a more comfortable hold on her newfound companion Ostara steps into the wardrobe and back out again, closely followed by Rubeus.

Once they're back in the Vaelmaereon keep Ostara lets out a sigh of relief.

No one caught her, no one knows about the dragon.

The trip back to the laboratory is silent save for the chirping of the dragon and the near-offended noises Rubeus makes when Orlaith drop from Ostara's shoulders to the top of the shadowcat's big head. She allows herself to smile at that despite the anxiety welling up in her chest the closer they get to the laboratory. Most of it stems from the fact that she isn't sure how she's going to keep anyone else from finding out about them.

It will be years before they're truly full grown and in that time they'll need more food, more gold.

Gold, Ostara has plenty of. The whole of Valyria is rife with gold.

Food on the other hand? That might be an issue.

Meat is a primary food source for dragons and until they're old enough to fly off on their own and hunt Ostara will be the one providing the meat... But she can't exactly walk a cow or a few sheep through her wardrobe without people getting suspicious, nor can she continue to steal from the root cellar. it's possible she could fish the oceans surrounding Valyria for a time. There are spells for that sort of thing. But it would be time consuming and impractical after a time.

Ostara pushes the door the the laboratory open and shoves her hand into her satchel to dig out the meat.

 _Mother!_

"I brought food." Ostara says, holding up the covered slab.

It delights the little dragons, they scramble over one another in their attempt to gather around Ostara's ankles.

Janus, the little Hebridean Black, even manages to climb up the lower half of her skirt. Little claws gaining purchase in the soft blue fabric.

After carefully removing the dragon from her person Ostara makes her way over to the work table where she finds a clean blade she can cut the meat with. Rubeus pads along after her, seemingly unfazed by dragon perched atop his head like a little, fire breathing hat.

Ostara keeps an eye on all of the little beasties as she carefully slices the meat into little chunks that she divides equally between the four. Rubeus takes his meat raw, plucking it very carefully from her fingers and licking away the blood from her skin. The dragons require their meat charred to a crisp and so Ostara cooks the meat until it's a strange, shriveled black hunk before giving it over.

Once they've been given their food Ostara makes her way over to a corner of the room where she begins pulling little pouches of gold from her satchel. It isn't much but then her dragons are still small. They won't need copious amounts of gold and jewels for their hoards just yet. Still, she makes sure there's enough to keep them occupied.

 _The others will hatch in time, Mother_ , a little voice says and Ostara glances down at Melrin, _they will need gold as well_.

"There's plenty of gold here, entire keeps full of it." Ostara replies.

 _Keeps?_

"Like a nest with a roof."

 _Roof_ , it sounds like a scoff, _what use is a roof?_

"Not everyone can be protected from the elements like you."

The little Antipodean Opaleye stretches his wings, the soft membrane of his wing brushing Ostara's skirts, then promptly climbs atop the nearest pile of gold.

 _Humans are weak_.

"I'm human."

 _No_ , it's said with such finality that Ostara finds herself shocked into silence, _you are mother._

~X~

"It is said that Azor Ahai will wake dragons from stone." Melisandre remarks one morning while Ostara reads a book on dragons.

It's a Targaryen book and can easily be overlooked as a passing interest so Ostara feels no need in trying to hide it from the eyes of anyone who might come across her.

"Who is Azor Ahai?" Cerys asks, her own book forgotten on the oak table.

Melisandre's eyes burn in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"Azor Ahai is the Lord of Light's champion. A great warrior who will drive away the coming darkness and save the world from great evil." Melisandre proclaims.

Ostara still hasn't figured out what this great evil is but she's got a list of possibilities hidden in a book under her bed. She'd really like to talk to Him about it but Phil's been suspiciously absent since the tourney and Ostara isn't sure how to contact him. Which means she's been relying a bit too much on the Red Priestess for her liking. Now, of course, that Melisandre has done anything bad.

She's actually been quite helpful.

Ostara still isn't sure if she trusts the woman though.

"Oh, he sounds very fierce."

"It is an old prophecy but true none the less." Melisandre casts her a delighted look. "One that will be fulfilled within our lifetime if the Lord of Light so chooses."

Cerys flips honey blonde hair over her shoulder and smiles sweetly at Melisandre.

"Is that why you've come to Storm's End, Lady Melisandre? To preach the word of Azor Ahai?"

"I," Melisandre begins very carefully, "am a servant of R'hllor. It is my duty to serve him as best I can. Should it be my task to preach his word or to guide his champion through the darkness I shall do so."

This time when Ostara looks at the older woman she finds herself staring struck by the intensity of Melisandre's gaze. The determination alone is enough to make Ostara vaguely nervous.

~X~

In her dreams there is a being with an ashy-white wooden face. He has but one eye visible on his face, a red eye, red as freshly spilled blood. One eye for his face but a thousand burn in the darkness around them. All trained on Ostara's lone figure.

Ostara shifts back, prepared to run into the meticulously organized labyrinth of her mind.

She wonders if this is the enemy, the great evil she is meant to fight.

Across from her the man moves.

Closer, closer, closer he steps until Ostara can smell him. Until she can feel the deathly chill of his breath on her face.

"So you," the man says, voice like gravel, "are the one he has sent."

"Who are you?"

"Tell me child, will you burn bright during the long night? Will you survive when the cold comes and there is no warmth to comfort you? No food to fill your belly?" The being reaches out to stroke Ostara's cheek.

It's only then that she notices the wine-stain creeping up his neck and ending at his cheek. Something about it seems vaguely familiar. But before Ostara can recall why the man pulls away and his body changes. Ostara cries out as the darkness lunges forward to swallow him whole, leaving nothing but a three eyed crow in his place when the darkness recedes.

~X~

 _Mother, mother, what did you dream of?_ Ostara wakes panting, shaking, the world around her tilting and reeling. _Mother, mother, what did you see?_

She barely manages to register the fact that the voice is young and too familiar to be a stranger's before she pulls her wand from beneath her pillow.

"Who's there?"

The wardrobe door is firmly shut and locked, to reduce the risk of one of the dragons slipping through before Ostara wakes and stops it from getting into mischief. All-the-same, something moves in the shadows of her chamber. Something small with sharp spines along its back and wings similar to that of a bat.

"Janus?"

 _Yes_.

"How did get here?"

There is a faint ripple of magic just before the shadows near the foot of Ostara's bed ripple and the little dragon in question steps through as though he were using a little door.

Ostara sucks in a deep breath.

Dragons, from what she's read, have a certain amount of personal magic but nothing that would allow something like this to happen.

 _Your magic_ , he says as he slips through another shadow and reappears on her shoulder, _is strong mother. It has given us much_.

"Can you... Can all of you do this?" Her voice cracks, a rising panic making it hard to speak.

 _Yes, and no, we can do that which your magic has allowed us to do._

"I don't understand." Ostara manages to breathe.

And the dragon merely curls around her neck, talons scraping little red lines into Ostara's shoulders and back, before he says, _You will_.

~X~

"Lord Darklyn has been arrested to treason. He's to be put to the sword within a sennight." Her father says the next morning at breakfast, "He's brought an entire host."

Ostara's stomach churns and her grip tightens on her fork.

"What of the rest?" Her mother inquires.

"Depends. If they've treated the King well during his imprisonment he may be lenient."

"I assume the Lady Serala will be put to death as well?"

Steffon goes very quiet for a long moment before nodding curtly. "Tywin has significant evidence against her."

Ostara pushes away from the table.

The lights in the room are a bit too bright, her food a bit too ashy in her mouth, and every subtle shift in the shadows around her has Ostara nearly jumping out of her skin. The fact of the matter is that she couldn't care less about Denys Darklyn and his Myrish bride. Historically, it isn't uncommon for people to be put to the sword and executed. Ostara might not agree with how they're executed depending on the way Aerys orders their deaths, and if he executes a child Ostara will certainly not support that, but Denys and Serala are adults.

They made their beds just as Ostara has.

Frankly, Ostara can't really focus on the Duskendale incident right now. Not when she's got three magically inclined baby dragons wreaking havoc on her mental well being.

 _Fuck, how am I supposed to hide them?_

Because she has too. If anyone found out, Gods forbid her own mother, then Aerys would hear about it and while Ostara is willing to consider a political alliance for the sake of not offending the king and creating issues between her family and the Targaryens, Ostara is not even remotely in the mood to deal with the King's determination to wed her to his son simply because she has dragons.

Also, it's a bad idea to have her dragons just running around the whole of Westeros.

People do stupid, ugly things when they're afraid and a hatchling is easier to kill then a full grown dragon. Even then, the common folk hadn't had any trouble killing the Targaryen dragons when they stormed the Dragonpit all those years ago.

"Has Tywin spoken of the King's health?" Cassana asks before taking a sip of her tea.

"He has suffered some physical harm but nothing that can't be fixed in time."

That doesn't mean he's in good mental shape.

"Has the Prince ridden to Duskendale?" Cassana asks, eyes flickering toward Ostara.

"I highly doubt," Ostara finds herself retorting acidly, "that he wouldn't."

Once that's said Ostara places her silverware down and rises from the table. Not even asking to be excused before making her way out into the corridor where she finds Melisandre waiting for her with a sanguine sort of smile. Neither of them speak but Melisandre falls into step slightly behind Ostara, an act that makes the young witch slightly uncomfortable with whatever message Melisandre is trying to give out.

She always walks beside other people, even Ostara's father.

Not once has Ostara ever seen Melisandre not consider herself the equal of another. It's an admirable trait. One Ostara sometimes finds herself struggling with in certain situation. But it's the fact that the Red Priestess is purposefully walking behind her that makes Ostara wary.

~X~

The next time Ostara returns to her laboratory, with every intention of working on some potions that will incorporate the crushed remains of the dragon shells, she finds that two more dragons have hatched.

A Hungarian Horntail who calls himself Oryn and then Janus' female counterpart who insists that Ostara call her Nesrin but never Nessy or Rin.

Ostara can't help but feel like today is just one headache after the other.

Obviously she's delighted to meet her newest additions. How could she not be? She's interacting with dragons on not only a personal level but an academic level as well. She's already got enough notes on their behaviors as a family unit to make a thesis. It's lovely. Ostara loves it, them. Mostly them.

It's just that they don't have enough understanding of whats going on with this new and exciting aspect of their biology for Ostara to work with.

It's all guess work.

Ostara _hates_ guess work.

Mostly because there isn't anyone she can bounce ideas off of. No one who would understand what she's talking about anyway. And even though she technically can run some fairly harmless tests to see how their magic works there's no way for her to actually do that to the extent Ostara wants.

Running a hand through her hair Ostara cooks up the meat she's brought with her, sets out new piles of gold for the two new members of her little family, and then she gathers the fragmented remains of the shells. Once that's done Ostara makes her way over to the work table where she begins grinding some of the shell pieces into a fine powder.

 _What are you doing?_

"Testing a theory."

 _Theory?_

"A system of ideas intended to explain something, especially one based on general principles independent of the thing to be explained."

 _What is your theory?_

Ostara glances at Nesrin and smiles, "I don't really know yet."

Nesrin hisses, the spike on her tail whipping through the air a few times before she goes still again.

 _Then why?_

"Because it keeps my mind busy."

It seems to be enough for her because Nesrin shakes her body before scuttling across the table and down one of the thick legs. After she's made it to the ground Nesrin shoots off toward her pile of gold which Janus is currently digging through. Ostara watches as they spread their wings at one another, extend their necks outward, and screech at one another. In the end Janus backs away from the gold, either not interested in or unable to fight Nesrin over it.

Ostara shakes her head and returns to her previous task.

Again, an entire thesis.


	23. Down-a-Down, hey! Down-a-Down

Rotting flesh has a very distinct smell, one Rhaegar has learned to ignore over the course of his life in the Red Keep where the dead in Flea Bottom are not cared for as they should be. The wind carries the stench of unwashed bodies and shit up to the Red Keep and the smell lingers, caught in every nook and crevice it manages to find its way into. Rotting flesh smells like feces and sweat and the cheap scented oils that the common folk will sometimes buy to cover their odor in place of actually bathing.

Rhaegar is used to rotting flesh, he is not used to the smell of _burning_ flesh.

A heavy, charred thing that makes Rhaegar gag and choke whenever he smells it in his doublet or on the clothing of another.

Serala Darklyn deserved the punishment she was given in the eyes of the common folk who came to watch her execution just the day before. They'd cheered as she was forced to walk through them, naked and bloody and sobbing. Cheered and cheered until their cries sounded more like roaring then anything else. Rhaegar had watched as they'd thrown stones and rotting food at her, watched as one man had pulled her into the crowd and beat her near senseless before Oswald Whent managed to pluck her from the clutches of the common folk and all but carry her to the raised platform where she would be put out of her misery.

The knight had looked green in the harsh light of the midday sun as he'd tied the woman to a post.

Rhaegar did not blame him.

As much as he understood his father's wrath and desperation Rhaegar did not agree with it. And oh he had tried to talk his father into a less severe punishment but Aerys had merely called him a child and sent him off. He had not listened, had not wanted to listen, and Rhaegar could not make him. So he had sat beside his father and watched as oil was poured over the woman's head, the amber colored liquid had gotten in her eyes and open wounds... He thinks that it will not be the sight of her flesh blistering that will forever haunt him but instead the sound of her agonized moaning as she burned.

Without a tongue she could not beg nor could she truly scream, so she'd choked on sobs and thrashed and tried to wail as the fire ate away her body.

He had hoped that would be the end of it. His father's wrath had been great and none but a small child had survived the massacre. But even with the days Aerys has spent resting and eating and being tended too there is a burning in his eyes that makes Rhaegar oddly nervous.

Thankfully their stay in Duskendale is at an end. A new family has been given the lands and the Dun Fort, their loyalty assured, and none of the common folk have attempted to cause them trouble, there is not a reason to stay. They will leave for King's Landing on the morrow and Rhaegar is not sure how he feels about that. Relief, yes, for his father is alive and with time perhaps he will recover from the trauma he has suffered, but trepidation as well. Because all Rhaegar can think about is the glee that had lit his father's face as Serala Darklyn's body had been eaten away to little more then a pile of charred bones and ashes.

Perhaps returning to King's Landing will lift his father's spirits and soothe the memories of tortures dealt to him. It will be familiar settings, after all, and his father has always found a sort of comfort in Maegor's Holdfast that Rhaegar never has. Dragonstone is Rhaegar's home, Dragonstone is Rhaegar's haven. King's Landing is the seat of his family's power and one day Rhaegar will settle in the Red Keep and spend the rest of his days there with his wife and whatever children she will bear him but that day has not yet come and so he thinks of Dragonstone and the peace there, and soon his mind drifts. To King's Landing, to his mother, to Ostara.

She will be waiting in King's Landing, or so Tywin has said. Aerys has been mumbling about keeping the blood close, protected and safe, since Selmy rescued him and had insisted that the daughter of his cousin was not safe at Storm's End. So Tywin had written to Rhaegar's mother, insisted that she bring the girl to King's Landing as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen.

Rhaegar isn't sure how wise it is to bring her to the Red Keep while his father is in such a fragile state, his actions will be too unpredictable and while Rhaegar loves his father he is not so blind as to ignore the fact that he finds Ostara Baratheon fascinating in ways he should not.

More then one pretty woman has been taken to his father's bed while his mother's remains empty and cold. But Aerys' affections have always been fleeting things Rhaegar has never known his father to keep a mistress longer then a week. After Aerys has taken what they have to offer, sucked them dry and left them ruined, he dismisses them from the keep.

No bastard has ever come from his father's trysts with these women but it doesn't make it right.

Rhaegar thinks that he has a right to worry for the girl who will possibly be his wife one day, even if just a little bit. She's young, after all, and pretty and men have done terrible, evil things for far less. A sort of dread settles in the pit of Rhaegar's stomach at the thought. Surely no one would dare to touch her, especially now when the King's anger is so quick to summon and so hard to soothe.

A frustrated sigh escapes his mouth as he enters the stables of the Dun Fort where a boy with freckles and a mess of brown hair has readied his horses and is now tending to Arthur's. Rhaegar watches him for a moment before gathering the reins of his horse's bridle so that he can guide the gelding out to the courtyard where servants are preparing everything that the Targaryen host will need for their return to King's Landing.

Tywin Lannister is standing in the middle of the chaos, talking to one of his soldiers. The gold thread in his doublet shines brightly, a spiderweb weaving in and out of the maroon fabric covering his arms. Even without his sword and armor Tywin looks more a King then a Lord. The Lion of Casterly Rock offers him a polite inclination of the head when he notices Rhaegar watching him then his attention is back on the soldier and Rhaegar has the distinct impression that he's just been dismissed.

He... Finds he is not offended.

Rhaegar is, however, startled when someone throws their arm around his shoulders and pulls him closer to their chest. A quick glance confirms Rhaegar's suspicions and Arthur's grin is far to cheeky for his own good.

"Excited to be going home? I hear the Lady Ostara will be waiting for us when we return." Arthur chortles, eyes dancing with mischief.

"Lady Ostara will be there to greet us when we return to the Red Keep, yes."

"Are you looking forward to it? Having her in the Keep? It will make fostering a relationship much easier when she's close enough to actually speak to you... I find letters very tedious when it comes to matters of the heart." Arthur remarks.

For some reason Rhaegar finds himself bristling. "We've spoken plenty."

"Yes, I'm more then aware of the letters you keep hidden in your trunk."

"You've gone through my things? That's treason, Arthur."

"And yet you're not going to do anything about it." The sandy haired knight sighs, the glee in his eyes fading into something kinder. "I am not trying to embarrass you Rhaegar. I only think that speaking with Lady Ostara would be more beneficial then not."

"Ostara is my friend. Do our letters imply otherwise?" Rhaegar finds himself asking.

Arthur stares at him for a long moment, eyes distant but not unkind, finally he shakes his head.

"May I be frank?"

"You always are."

"I think that while your feelings for the girl are honorable and you hold no ill will the same cannot be said for her. She is younger Rhaegar, she knows her duty but she does not know _you_." Arthur states.

"And you would know anything about marriages."

Rhaegar doesn't tell him that Ostara knows him better then most, that despite everything Ostara likely won't marry him for duty if at all.

"I know women, Rhaegar, and Ostara Baratheon may be young but she is a woman still. Maybe it would be in your best interests to remember that a woman is perhaps one of the most dangerous creatures known by men."

Rhaegar resists the urge to roll his eyes, instead moving to toss his reigns over his horse's neck so that he can mount it. Once he's situated in the saddle, supple leather smooth against his legs, Rhaegar turns to Arthur.

"I will keep that in mind Arthur," Rhaegar smiles at his friend, "but perhaps it would be wise of you to remember that Ostara Baratheon is a child of noble blood and not one of the whores you sneak into your bed."

There is no anger in Arthur's voice, only amusement as he says, "I do not sneak them anywhere, Rhaegar. I have no reason to do so."

Rhaegar, unsurprisingly, does not deign his friend's statement with a response. It's no secret to anyone that Arthur takes women to his bed, not many, but enough. Pycell has often been seen bustling to and from his quarters with this elixir or that to ensure that the knight hasn't got a bastard on any of the pretty women he shares an evening or two with. He's very careful about his dalliances, Rhaegar will give him that much at least.

~X~

Ostara sighs as she packs up the last of her things into a trunk.

Her room seems empty.

All of her books and clothes packed away into trunks that will follow her to King's Landing where she'll act as the Queen's companion for the next several years.

Normally, Ostara wouldn't have gone. But she's used up all of her resources at Storm's End and the library at King's Landing is vast. Surely she'd be able to find something about these Others with the resources in King's Landing. All she'd really have to do is keep the Queen company every once in a while, that can't be too hard a task. Melisandre thinks it's a good idea for her to go as well.

The red woman will be traveling with her to King's Landing. Her and a small group of people that will act as Ostara's personal servants. Cerys and Daevyn are coming, to act as companion and protector. Ostara had been surprised to learn that but thankful for it none the less.

Ostara sighs as she makes her way over to the wardrobe where she places her hand upon the cool wood.

She's already spoken to the dragons on the other side, told them she would be travelling for some time and under no circumstances where they to come find her. They'd been upset, annoyed, but they're relented after a time.

There's enough food stored up to last the hatchlings until Ostara gets to King's Landing. It's amazing what a glamour and a couple of silver stags will get you. Ostara thinks that at the very least the hatchlings should be alright on their own for a few days. She left Melrin in charge just in case, it seemed like the best idea seeing as he was the only dragon capable of producing a steady flame when Ostara left.

He promised to look after the nest, Ostara trusts his sincerity enough to not fret... Much.

"My Lady, have you packed everything?"

Ostara turns to see Daevyn Sand standing in her doorwar.

He'll be coming with her to King's Landing, a Dornish bastard hired by her Lord father to keep Ostara safe during the trip to King's Landing. A personal guard and tutor. Apparently Tywin hadn't found much issue with it, Ostara isn't so sure about the king though. Whether he was opposed to the idea or not doesn't matter she supposes. Daevyn Sand is coming to King's Landing whether the King likes it or not.

Smiling, Ostara steps away from the wardrobe.

"Yes, of course. I was merely double checking." Ostara replies.

"Come," Daevyn commands, tone gentle, "It is time."

"Yes Master Sand."

With one last glance around her room Ostara gathers her skirts and makes her way out of her chambers and into the corridor where she can still see the servants carrying the last of her things to be packed away for the duration of the trip to King's Landing.

~X~

"Are you not excited Ostara?" Cerys asks, pretty eyes wide as their carriage rolls down the road made of packed dirt.

Ostara doesn't mind the carriage, she'd much rather be out riding with Daevyn and the others but the carriage isn't terrible. It allows her to card her fingers through Rubeus' fur while he rests his head in her lap. It also allows her to keep an eye on Melisandre's interactions with Cerys.

She's still not entirely sure if she should trust the red woman or not.

Maggy had told her to beware the Red Priest's shadowbinder. Melisandre is from Asshai, a place where shadowbinders are known to be quite prominent, and she's a Red Priest. It's not a coincidence.

"I am excited to see King's Landing again, yes, mostly because of the library." Ostara smiles at her friend.

"I heard the King loves balls... Is it true?"

"Yes, father says he throws at least three every year."

Cerys' eyes brighten a great deal and Ostara makes a mental note to teach Cerys to dance.

"It will be quite the opportunity," Melisandre intones after a moment, "to make friends in high places."

"Are we doing this now?" Ostara asks, she pretends not to see the way Cerys shifts closer to the window.

Russet eyes burn bright as Melisandre says, "Allies will be very important if you wish to succeed. For the night is dark and full of terrors."

"Yes, you've said that... Many times." Ostara retorts as she turns her attention back to her book.

"You do not believe."

"Oh, I believe. I just have better things to do then rely on superstition."

Melisandre smirks, "Like?"

The silver corners on Ostara's book flash as she lifts it up.

"Literally, anything else."

There is no anger in Melisandre's eyes, no rage, only a firm sort of amusement that makes annoys the hell out of Ostara.

Slowly, a comfortable silence falls over the occupants of the carriage. Cerys pulls a book out of Ostara's basket and begins practicing her letters, Melisandre leans her head back and closes her eyes to meditate or sleep Ostara isn't sure, and Ostara settles into the cushioned seat to watch the Stormlands go by in a slow procession of greens, browns, blues, and greys.

~X~

"It's been three days." Rhaegar says to Barristan Selmy one evening and the other man's eyes grow distant and hard.

"Aye, your highness, it has."

"Has anyone called for a maester?"

"Aye, multiple times and your father turns them all away." Barristan rubs at his chin, "Though, one was able to observe the King for a short time."

Rhaegar wants to pull at his hair, or rub a knuckle against his eye, or pinch the bridge of his nose in his frustration. It's been three days since they left Duskendale and in that time his father has shown very little improvement. He is quick to anger, hard to please, and his eyes dart about suspiciously whenever he is around too many people.

"What did the Maester say?" Rhaegar demands.

"That it is not uncommon for those who have suffered under torture to be suspicious of others for a time after the ordeal. He said it would likely pass with time and familiar settings."

"And that is all?"

"That is all, your highness."

"Thank you, Ser Selmy."

The knight offers a curt nod and a polite goodbye before leaving to see to whatever tasks he'd been off to accomplish before Rhaegar had stopped him. Rhaegar doesn't understand the uncharacteristic clenching in his gut, doesn't understand why he feels so unsure about the Maester's prognosis. It's not as though Rhaegar knows anything about healing, nothing that could ever help his father anyway.

Healing the mind is so much different then healing the body.

A body can be fixed with stitches, splints, bandages, and herbs.

The mind is not so easy.

So why would Rhaegar feel so apprehensive about his father's sickness? His father's trauma? Surely he will recover in time, surely the maester's have been able to examine him enough to be sure of their diagnosis.

Rhaegar presses his lips together instead of grinding his teeth at the thought of the Maester's being wrong.

Because if they are wrong and Rhaegar allows his father back into King's Landing where his mother and brother are, where Ostara will be, then Rhaegar will be no better then a monster. Even before this Aerys treatment of his wife had never been loving, he'd never hurt her badly but Rhaegar suspects his mother would never tell anyone that his father did strike her.

Something acidic rests in Rhaegar's throat as he leans back in the small chair set up in his tent.

If his father's torment at Duskendale has truly rendered him mad then Rhaegar will have no choice but to handle the situation. But how to do so when the state of his father's mind is so unclear? Rhaegar bites the inside of his cheek, he'll speak with his mother... And Arthur. Surely they will be able to guide him in his decisions if nothing else.

~X~

 _There were three ravens sat on a tree_

 _Down-a-down, hay down, hey down._

 _And they were as black as they might be, with a down._

 _The one of them said to his mate:_

 _"What shall we for breakfast take?"_

 _With a down, derry derry derry down, down._

Ostara walks down the long, isolated stretch of ice she's found herself on.

There's no chill despite the snow blowing around her, no sound save the melody drifting through the air from somewhere off in the distance. Ostara thinks she sees something ahead, something small and black. But it's too unclear to be sure.

 _Down in yonder green field,_

 _Down-a-down, hey! Down-a-down._

 _There lies a knight slain under his shield, with a down._

 _Down comes a follow doe,_

 _As great with young as she might go._

 _With a down, derry derry derry down, down._

A stench rises in the air, forcing Ostara to scrunch her nose slightly as she makes her way further along the icy path.

She's getting closer to her destination. Ostara can make out the being singing. A crow with three eyes and a beak that never moves. It stares at her as she walks closer.

 _She lifted up his bloody head,_

 _Down-a-down, hey! Down-a-down._

 _And kissed his wounds that were so red, with a down!_

 _She got him up across her back_

 _and carried him to the earthen lack._

 _With a down, derry derry derry down, down._

The crow hops closer to her, those eyes of his burning with something Ostara vaguely recognizes. Something that calls to her. Ostara crosses her arms over her chest and remains silent as she offers the crow her arm. Once he's fluttered up to perch on her forearm Ostara pulls him closer to her body to protect him from the snow as he sings.

It's harder to see here, where the wind and snow blow so fiercely.

 _She buried him before his prime,_

 _Down-a-down, hey! Down-a-down._

 _She was dead herself, ere evening time, with a down!_

 _Gods send every gentlemen._

 _Fine hawks, fine hounds and such a loved one._

 _With a down, derry derry derry down, down._

Suddenly the wind stops and Ostara can see out across the great expanse of snow.

The scream tears itself from her throat before she can stop it.

Bodies, hundreds upon hundreds of bodies litter the pristine white of the snow. They all lay scattered across the ground, their bodies twisted and broken, some are even laying in stagnant pools of red.

But that's not the worst of it. Ostara's seen dead bodies before. She's seen worse then this before. It's the fact that she recognizes some of the faces in the snow that makes this so horrific.

Cerys, Daevyn, her mother, her father, Robert... Stannis.

They all stare back at her slack jawed and distant eyed.

 _Will you survive the darkness, girl?_

Ostara looks down at the crow and finds a mass of missing silver hair and rotting flesh in her hands instead.

She wakes with a scream lodged in her throat.


	24. A Castle Red as Blood

Hello,

this is the beginning of the rewrite.

~X~

Can _you survive the darkness, girl?_

Ostara gnaws at her lip as she runs a hand over Rubeus' head. The crow's question has been a good distraction, something she can pick apart and explain away with logic while she listens to Cerys talk of King's Landing or while Melisandre makes little offhanded remarks about the evils of the world. They've been in the wheelhouse for three days and already Ostara is loosing her mind.

Normally she dreams of other things; past lives and old friends. Nothing she ever dreams of is as terrible as the dream she'd had last night simply due to the fact that whenever Ostara does have nightmares they're usually of something she's lived through. She can safely say that she's never lived through any of the events of last night's dream.

She's never met any three-eyed crow before either.

Casting a discreet glance at Melisandre shows the red woman resting peacefully against the padded bench. Ostara isn't sure how she managed to convince Lord and Lady Baratheon to let her accompany their daughter to King's Landing but she supposes that it might not have been a terrible thing. She might be vague and a little too devout of a follower for Ostara's liking but Melisandre has never once done anything to Ostara that has made the younger girl uncomfortable.

Burning russet eyes open without so much as a flutter of lashes to warn Ostara that she's been caught staring and she's forced to watch with burning cheeks as Melisandre offers her the wickedest grin she's ever seen on another human being.

"Have you slept, my Lady?"

Yes, my lady, it's what Melisandre's been calling her for days now. The words spilling hesitantly from between her teeth as if she's yearning to call her something else instead. Ostara has her own guesses about what it is Melisandre would rather be calling her and none of them would mean anything good for Ostara if others were to hear.

Absently, she slips her hand into the hidden pocket of her dress to roll her wand between her fingers.

"I've a question for you and I feel it better discussed privately." Ostara remarks before casting Cerys a glance.

The blonde is still sleeping peacefully and even if she weren't Ostara would have no qualms about discussing her dream in front of Cerys. Waking her seems ridiculous as there's no telling what Melisandre is going to have to say about her dream, besides, Cerys isn't aware that Ostara isn't entirely normal. Should anything be discussed about Azor Ahai and the Others or anything else of the like then Cerys would be made aware of Ostara's talents and... Well, Ostara would rather tell Cerys herself then have the blonde overhear it from Melisandre, who Ostara suspects already knows a fair bit more about her then anyone else.

"Of course, I live to serve."

"When we first met you mentioned the Others... What are they?"

Melisandre visibly stiffens before sitting straighter on the bench.

"They are the children of the Great Other, beings of ice and shadow, capable of raising the dead to serve them. Have you heard the story of the Long Night?" Melisandre asks.

"It was a period of great darkness that spread across the known world, yes?"

Her mother had never wanted to speak of the Long Night but Ostara had always found it fascinating. There was nothing overly descriptive about it in the library at Storm's End but what was available to her was helpful enough to paint a picture. Darkness spread across the world, people died, and a hero rose to save humanity. It had seemed a bit too much like a fairy tale at the time but Ostara knows better then to discount anything simply because it seems impossible.

"The Others came from the Land of Always Winter." Melisandre clasps her hands in her lap, "When they came south they slaughtered many and brought them back as savage beasts. The Northern men fought back and eventually managed to erect The Wall to keep them at bay... Why do you wish to know this?"

"I had a dream before we left. I was in a land of snow and there was a three-eyed crow that sang to me and when I brought it close to me it revealed hundred upon thousands of dead men. Some of them I recognized. Just before I woke up it asked if I would could survive the darkness." Ostara glances out the wheel house window and watches as the sky begins to brighten a bit near the horizon.

"It is said that Azor Ahai will be born again when the Other begin to gather their power."

"Is that so?" Ostara asks.

"Oh yes, I've looked into the flames many times and seen you staring back at me." Melisandre admits.

"That doesn't mean much of anything," Ostara licks her lips.

This time Melisandre merely blinks at her before asking, "Did you know I was born a slave? I was sold to a Red Temple when I was young and it was there that I learned that I was blessed by the Lord of Light. R'hllor saved me, gave me a purpose. If he has shown me your face in the flames then it means more then you know."

With that said the red woman leans back, shifts away, and closes her eyes to effectively cut off the conversation.

Ostara is left feeling vaguely ill.

She'd known that there were slaves in the world but with none in Westeros it had been surprisingly easy to forget that it was still a prevalent issue across the narrow sea. No one should live in chains, no one should be forced to suffer that indignity. Ostara leans back and swallows the lump in her throat. She's got a lot to think about; Others and Long Nights and slavery. All rather heavy topics that need serious consideration.

Beside her Rubeus stretches his legs out in front of him and yawns before flopping down to curl up across the seat. He's doing well considering this is his first time in such a cramped space. Ostara's so glad for his presence in the carriage because it gives them all an excuse to stop and stretch their legs every once in a while. Sighing softly to herself Ostara rolls her shoulders, grabs a book out of her basket, and begins reading about Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives while she waits for their guards to wake and ready themselves for another long day of travel.

If she doesn't actually comprehend any of what she's reading and merely resorts to flipping through pages no one knows but her.

~X~

King's Landing smells just as bad as Ostara remembers it smelling, perhaps even worse.

The fact that the city doesn't have a proper waste disposal system is pitiful at best and disgusting no matter what. Dumping waste product in the bay is hardly a proper way of getting rid of not only the physical evidence that people need to relieve themselves but the stench of it as well. If anything, it only exasperates the issue of disease and uncleanliness in the city.

The young witch watches as the men and women in the street pause to stare at her party, some of the children wave and, never one to disappoint, Ostara waves back much to the little ones' delight. But eventually the common folk are replaced with castle guards in crimson and black the closer they get to the Red Keep.

"Will Prince Rhaegar be here to greet you Ostara?" Cerys asks as they pull into the courtyard.

"It's possible. He and Tywin Lannister's forces arrived before us."

Even so, the King will likely not be greeting them today.

Word is the Maester here has insisted that he rest a few days. Allow his body to recover from the strain it was under while he was imprisoned by Denys Darklyn.

Ostara thinks that counseling would be even better for him but PTSD isn't an acknowledged issue in this world and so there's likely not anyone equipped to handle a traumatized King. Ostara's not even equipped to handle it and she's been through therapy. She could offer advice to either the Maester or to the King himself but she doubts either would listen to her and any potions Ostara might be able to brew would take months to prepare seeing as she'd have to get her hands on some very specific ingredients.

"My Lady," Melisandre's voice pulls her away from her thoughts, "it is time."

Ostara nods and gathers her skirts as Daevyn Sand opens the wheelhouse door.

Rubeus leaps out first, stretching and basking in the open space even as court goers twitter around him, Ostara follows with her head held aloft and her eyes forward. She spares a brief glance at Cerys and Melisandre as they step out of the carriage to ensure they're alright before plastering on a polite smile and making her way toward the silver haired Queen standing among a group of extravagantly dressed women.

None of them are familiar to Ostara.

None of them are the Dornish princess Delone with her serpent eyes and glossy hair.

None of them are Joanna Lannister with her honey gold hair and summer grass eyes.

None of them are Cassana Estermont with her earth hued skin and striking bone structure.

These women, though lovely in their own rights, are unfamiliar to Ostara. Strangers in all but their status.

Ostara stops mere feet from the Queen and dips into a low curtsy, fingers curling in the silk of her skirt to keep it just above the dirt as is custom.

"Your Grace."

"Hello Ostara, I trust your journey went well?"

She rises, smiling charmingly at the woman whose eyes are similar to her own.

"I found my time occupied by nothing but books and laughter."

A lie, a bloody lie, but Ostar'a getting good at telling them.

Rhaella doesn't seem to notice. Why would she? She hasn't spent enough time around Ostara to know her tells. Only Stannis can boast that much and only because Ostara so rarely lies to him in the first place.

"Lady Ostara, these are my Ladies-in-Waiting; Lady Alysanne Rosby," the pretty brunette in the yellow gown curtsies, "Lady Falyse Stokeworth," this time a fishy looking woman with long raven hair curtsies, "and Lady Laena Gaunt." the blonde with puffy red eyes curtsies next.

None of them are truly that stunning to look upon. Lady Alysanne is pretty but only by so much. Ostara finds herself wondering why Rhaella chose these women particularly. Only one of them is the current heir to a house, Ostara understands the benefit of having Lady Stokeworth around, but the other two? Not so much. Surely there were other Ladies who attempted to gain the Queen's favor?

And then it hits her.

These women are not lovely enough to tempt Aerys.

That's the reason Rhaella dismissed her original Ladies-in-Waiting wasn't it? To keep them safe from her husbands wandering eyes and nimble fingers. Ostara can respect the thought the Queen put in when choosing these women but it all seems rather arduous. If the King is going to bring another woman into his bed there are plenty of pretty serving girls.

Perhaps it is to keep the women in her husband's bed out of her social circle.

"A pleasure to meet all of you, truly."

Rhaella smiles charmingly and moves to face her Ladies.

"You may go." She tells them, smiling even after each has disappeared at which point she turns to Ostara, "Come. I'll personally escort you to your chambers."

"If it please you, Your Grace."

Smiling, Rhaella slips her arm through Ostara's and begins guiding her into the Red Keep. She discusses the layout of the Keep as they walk, telling Ostara how best to get where at any given point, and Ostara gives her most of her attention. There's a brief moment where Ostara is forced to realize that the Queen is... Tiny in comparison to Ostara. At only thirteen Ostara is almost a quarter of a head taller than the woman walking beside her and she isn't even done growing yet.

Ostara shakes herself mentally and gives her attention back to the silver Queen who's talking about her duties as a Lady-in-Waiting. Every once in a while Ostata nods to show she's still listening but otherwise she remains still and silent, a lovely shadow that follows Queen Rhaella through the corridors of the Red Keep.

~X~

Her chambers are different from what she's used to; Large windows and marble floors and vines carved into the walls. Golden light filters into the room during the day and she suspects that at night Ostara will be able to count each of the stars that burn bright beyond this world's atmosphere. Everything is perfect, simple in its function but stunning in its design. Ostara allows herself a moment to stare as the servants place her belongings here and there about the room.

There's a grand wardrobe to hang her gowns in, a door that likely leads to a water closet, and another that leads to her solar where she'll be able to take guests should she wish. The writing desk and the bookcase are her favorites though, both pressed against one of the walls furthest from the grand four-post bed that Ostara will be sleeping in for the remainder of her time at court.

"Do you like it?" Rhaella asks, voice hopeful.

If Ostara was a betting woman she would say that it had been Rhaella who had chosen her new rooms.

"I think it's lovely, Your Grace, thank you." Ostara says it with a bright smile which seems to amuse the silver haired queen more then anything.

"I am glad you think so. Have you seen the view?"

Before Ostara can reply, though they both know she has not been able to observe anything beyond her new room, Rhaella guides her over to the small balcony, throws the fluttering curtains back and steps out into the light. Ostara follows, moving as gracefully as her now incredibly awkward body can, standing beside Rhaella to stare out over Blackwater Bay and the narrow sea. There's no comfortable way to observe the common folk living near the Red Keep and Ostara wonders if the silver queen standing beside her chose this room specifically with that purpose in mind.

All the same, it's a lovely view and Rubeus seems happy to bounce around the small space, knocking things about or moving them completely out of place. Ostara's just happy that the bed will be big enough to fit them both seeing as the shadowcat will eventually find himself in her bed one way or another.

Ostara doesn't feel safe here in the Red Keep, it might be one of the most secure places in King's Landing but Ostara's pretty sure her enemies are not going to be trying to crawl through her window. She's pretty sure her biggest enemies will be the ones who clean her room and gather her dirty clothes at the end of the day. The maids and servants and young women who will claim their loyalty one moment and stab her in the spleen the next.

Ostara knows just enough about the game of thrones to know that one does not enter King's Landing blind to its nature.

It's one of the reasons she was so relieved to hear that Cerys, Daevyn, and Melisandre would be coming with her. No matter what they will guard her secrets, they will not betray her to those looking to wiggle their way up the social ladder by bringing her down it.

"Is it not lovely?" Rhaella inquires, hands clasped before her.

"It is, your grace." Ostara doesn't bother trying to lie.

"I am glad you find it pleasing," Rhaella says, turning to look Ostara in the eye, "I'll leave you now, I think, there's much to do tomorrow and I think it'd best be done while you are fully rested."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Ostara curtsies.

Rhaella's smile is a soft, sweet thing and her hand is even sweeter upon Ostara's cheek as she says, "If you need anything at all Ser Grandison will be just outside your door. He may be aging but his skill have not dulled, you will be perfectly safe."

"Will there be anyone else? After Ser Grandison, I mean?"

"Yes, Ser Lewyn Martell will come to relieve Ser Grandison of his duties at some point later this evening, though I suspect you will have gone to bed by that point."

 _Doubtful_ , Ostara thinks smiling to mask her tension, _very doubtful_.

"Then I will be sure to thank them personally tomorrow, Your Grace." Ostara remarks, stepping back into the room as Rhaella begins making her way to the door.

The silver thread in Rhaella's bodice shines brightly in the light, fracturing the expanse of black that covers her slender frame. It is not a good color on her, black, it makes her appear faded. Washed out. Like she's a piece of colored parchment that's been left out in the sun too long. But Ostara does not say this, nor will she ever. Instead she allows the woman to place a chaste kiss upon her cheek before bidding her farewell.

Once she's gone and the door is closed tightly Ostara pulls her wand from its hidden place and begins making her way around the room, the tip of her wand dragging across the smooth stone. She puts up the strongest protection and repellent charms she can think of while spreading out her magic to look for any hidden spaces. There's a tunnel beyond the wall. Ostara can feel the emptiness there and so she ensures that no one will be able to get close enough to her chambers to spy on her.

She'll need to find the entrance to the tunnel but that can wait for another day.

Once everything is warded and protected Ostara grabs a book out of one of her chests, the chair from her writing desk, and moves to sit on the balcony with Rubeus curled around her feet while she reads in what little remains of the sunlight painting the sky a sweet dust colored pink.

~X~

"Are your quarters to your liking, My Lady?"

Ostara looks up at the mirror in front of her to find Melisandre lingering by the door. After placing the fine toothed comb down on the vanity Ostara turns to look at the Red Priestess and smiles kindly at the woman.

"They are... And your own?"

"I find them as comfortable as your darling friend, less, perhaps."

"Cerys? You're sharing a room with Cerys?"

Melisandre nods slowly as she makes her way across the small space to pick up the comb and resume the task Ostara has forgotten.

"For now." Melisandre's fingers are gentle as she picks tangles out of curly hair. "She is your friend is she not? This place is full of dangerous people, it would be a shame if anything were to happen to her."

It's not even remotely a threat. More of a casual observation. Something eases in Ostara's chest when Melisandre says it though. If nothing else Cerys will be safe with Melisandre simply because the blonde means something to Ostara. As long as they're friends Melisandre will do whatever is in her power to protect the younger girl. Ostara doubts the auburn haired woman would dare to betray her by causing Cerys any harm.

"Have you run into any trouble?" Ostara asks after a moment.

"None, but I will in time I suspect."

"If you need help," Ostara begins, "you will come to me, yes?"

Melisandre smiles a shark's smile as she puts down the comb and runs a soft thumb over Ostara's cheekbone.

"While I appreciate your concern there's no need for it," Melisandre pulls away with a gentle dip of the head. "For the night is dark and full of terrors."

"Everyone needs protection at some point, Melisandre."

"And would you protect me from the darkness?"

"I would."

"Even if I were your enemy?"

Ostara sucks in a deep breath.

Would she?

"I suppose I would... Depending on the situation."

"There will come a time, Little Champion, when the situation you're imagining becomes much more dire. What then? Hm?"

The older woman doesn't give her much of a chance to respond. Instead she presses a chaste kiss to Ostara's cheek before pivoting on her heel and making her way toward the door. She pauses, very briefly, to tell Ostara that Cerys will be by in the morning to help her prepare for her first day as Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen before disappearing out into the corridor.

Ostara waits for the door to close tightly behind her before locking it and making her way over to the wardrobe where she goes about layering charm after charm on the structure. Once it's carefully warded from prying eyes Ostara pulls the doors open and performs the same spell she performed in Storm's End. Smiling brightly when a rush of hot air hits her face.

Without thought Ostara steps into the wardrobe and out the other side, not even the slightest bit worried that someone will catch her. Because they won't. They never will. So long as Ostara's magic fills the hidden tunnels beyond her chamber walls no one will see her traveling to Valyria, no one will see her coming back. She's made sure of that much at least.

~X~

When she slips back into her room hours later, smelling of smoke and herbs and something tangy, she isn't expecting to find Cerys sitting cross legged on her bed. Nor is she expecting to find the other girl flipping through one of Ostara's personal journals. But Cerys is in her room, obviously waiting for Ostara to return from where ever it is Cerys thinks she went, and she is reading about dragons and magic and other things Ostara thought she'd made sure were hidden.

"I found the chest under your bed when I was organizing." Cerys remarks as she flips another page.

Ostara has never kept anything from Cerys. If there was a book Ostara owned that Cerys wished to read then the blonde was allowed to read it. If there was a gown Cerys wished to try on then she was allowed to do so. If there was something she wished to know then Ostara did her best to enlighten her. She cannot be angry with Cerys for reading the journal, it would be hypocritical and cruel. A betrayal of the friendship that she has so greatly cherished over the years.

"I was going to tell you." Ostara replies as she slips further out of the wardrobe.

There's no use hiding it now that Cerys has caught her in the act.

As she makes her way closer to the bed, Rubeus slipping out of the wardrobe behind her, Cerys closes the journal with tender care and places it aside.

"I already suspected there was something going on, Ostara. You're not exactly subtle." Cerys' tone is laughing even though her eyes are serious.

Ostara moves to sit beside her on the bed with a shake of her head and a, "I thought I was doing very well."

"Strangers would never suspect but I've known you all of your life Ostara. I know when you're lying and when you're hiding something."

"Are you angry?"

"A little hurt, perhaps, that you didn't tell me." Cerys admits.

"I wasn't hiding it from you purposefully."

"Why did you never tell me? I wouldn't have spoken a word of it to anyone."

Ostara nods slowly before saying, "I honestly never thought to tell anyone. It seems a bit mad to simple come up to a person and tell them I have magic. People would either believe me or they wouldn't and once they realized I wasn't lying things could have gotten ugly."

"How do you mean?"

"People are afraid of things they don't understand and that fear often leads to acts of violence."

"You think someone would hurt you?"

This earns a slow shake of the head.

"Not necessarily in a physical manner but they might go after my family or my friends."

"I'm not afraid." Cerys promises.

"No," Ostara smiles a bit, "you're not. Are you?"

"I think I realized something was different about you that day I got caught with your book... I was so frightened that you'd be hurt but when I saw you later there hadn't been so much as a hair out of place. It seemed suspicious that he'd died in his cell and I, well, I didn't think you'd hurt him but I suspected _something_."

"I didn't kill him."

Cerys shrugs and moves to tug at a loose thread in her skirt.

"Will you tell anyone else?" Cerys asks to which Ostara sighs.

"If I tell anyone if will be close friends first. Melisandre already knows but she thinks me to be Azor Ahai but Daevyn isn't aware and I doubt anyone else in King's Landing suspects anything." Ostara admits.

There's a sudden pressure on her shoulder and when Ostara turns to look she finds Cerys resting her chin where she'd expected a hand to be.

"I think you should tell people." Cerys says.

"Why is that?"

"Well, no one would tell you no if they found out you could do something anyway."

This earns a sharp huff of laughter and a, "Perhaps... Or it could scare people into thinking they should kill me and that's too much drama in my life."

"You're afraid."

"Cautious."

Cerys rolls away and moves to get under the blankets. Ostara follows and once they're both settled Cerys twists around to face her.

"Sometimes your too cautious, Ostara, and it's just as bad as being reckless." Cerys whispers before placing a chaste kiss upon Ostara's cheek and rolling away to face the opposite direction.


	25. The Proud and The Bold

The Iron Throne is just as Ostara remembers it. Too big, too dark, too imposing. There is nothing aesthetically pleasing about the mass of melted steel nor is there anything that would put her at ease if Ostara were a member of the common folk coming to seek audience with the King. The entire throne room is this way. But there are things that Ostara finds fascinating.

Like the dragon skulls lining the walls, those are something truly amazing to behold.

Perhaps they are not as lovely as her dragons' skulls would be but they are stunning all the same. There are no true similarities between the skulls on the walls of the throne room and the skulls of the dragons in Valyria, of course, but Ostara likes to think that the Targaryen dragons wouldn't have been so terribly different in their structures. The amusement of the thought sours when she thinks of how these dragons deserved better then to be mounted on the wall by men wishing to relive their glory days.

This is why she has kept her own dragons hidden.

She will not expose them to anyone save herself until they're large enough to carry her on their backs, until their scales have hardened to the point that not even the strongest of blades could pierce their bodies. She has no doubt that if anyone were to learn about the dragons then they would be coveted by men like Aerys or slaughtered by men too afraid to think rationally.

"The Prince looks very handsome," Lady Falyse remarks quietly to the other Ladies who have gathered in the throne room with their Queen to watch the proceedings of court.

Aerys has not returned and so Tywin Lannister sits on the King's throne, but Ostara isn't looking at Tywin. She's more interested in looking at Rhaegar who stands beside the Iron Throne with Ser Dayne.

He looks like something out of a painting.

High cheekbones, solemn face, hair like spun moonlight.

She understands why one would wax poetic about Rhaegar Targaryen. He is, after all, devilishly handsome and completely unobtainable for the majority of the people in the room.

Ostara doesn't mean to be caught staring but when Rhaegar turns his head just so and somehow manages to catch her eye Ostara finds herself offering her friend a subtle smile and a discreet nod. She curls her fingers into the fabric of her gown, green silk with silver Myrish Lace covering the bodice. It's one of her nicer gowns and also one of her favorites.

Beside, she appears to be the only person wearing this exact shade.

Everyone else in green is dressed in shades of mint and Jade. Lighter colors are in style in the Reach and King's Landing at the moment, it's a trend that's quickly catching among other southern houses. Ostara is the only one wearing a rich forest green. Absentmindedly the young witch smooths down her skirts. It's not that it's really that big of an issue, Ostara just happened to notice it rather suddenly.

That and the eyes that linger on her.

"Not so handsome as Lord Dayne." Lady Laena remarks softly as two men in dirt smeared clothes move to stand before Tywin Lannister.

They're farmers, coming before the Hand of The King to settle a dispute over land.

Tywin Lannister listens to their case with his ever present scowl and eventually decides that the land will be divided between the two men equally. If one wants the land more then the other then he can attempt to buy it if he so chooses. It's a smart decision, one that seems to placate both men. They bow respectfully to Tywin and Rhaegar each before exiting the throne room.

Court is dismissed soon after.

Ostara and the rest of the Ladies wait for Rhaella to rise from the bench where she has been sitting for the past few hours. It's a stupid little bench with a delicately embroidered pillow to cushion the Queen's rear as she listens to the issues of the small folk but holds no true sway over the court's proceedings. Ostara wants to hurl the prettily made bench across the room and scream about how stupid it is to have a fucking Queen seated so low to the ground when her husband is raised so high.

Ostara breathes through her nose and decides to do the rational thing.

No one is going to listen to a girl, not here, but they will listen to _her_. Ostara will make them listen to her. And she won't scream, she won't rage, she won't throw stupid little tantrums that only work to act against her in the long run.

Sun Tzu did say that the expert in battle moves the enemy, and is not moved by him.

Ostara has no intention of being anyone's pawn.

Slowly turning her attention back to the queen Ostara relaxes her jaw and smiles kindly at the silver haired woman who is now striding past her Ladies, who all gather their skirts and follow close behind with a series of twittering giggles and softly spoken gossip.

Apparently, Lady Myrissa Buckwell was caught sneaking off by Lady Falyse with a young Martin Pyle after court had been dismissed.

Apparently, this is quite inappropriate.

Ostara tries not to roll her eyes too obviously while in the company of her fellow Ladies-in-Waiting but it is a hard thing when their entertainment is found at the expense of someone else. Eventually, Ostara grows tired of it.

"I don't understand," She finds herself saying to the three women tittering about some pore woman's husband, "how it's any of your business if she's married to Lord Buckwell and having intimate relationships elsewhere?"

"Oh, darling girl, you just don't understand." Lady Alysanne comments snobbishly, nose raised just enough that Ostara can see her nose hairs.

"I understand that she's given birth to three children, all legitimate, and that her husband is sleeping with a Flowers... Or am I misinformed?" when Alysanne goes an ugly sort of puce Ostara continues, "Perhaps you should keep your tongue behind your teeth and not besmirch the reputation of others lest you wish the same to happen to you, Lady Alysanne."

"It's different, he is a man." The fishy looking lady in deep blue remarks absently.

"Lady Falyse, when you're married and your husband is sleeping with other women, then you can tell me that it's different because he's a man and you're a woman. But until then? Perhaps keeping your mouth shut will keep the foolish things you say from slipping out."

Beyond the wide eyes and the ugly flushed faces Queen Rhaella's lips quirk into a soft, startled smile.

~X~

Tywin Lannister finds her later that day when Ostara is tucked away in a quiet part of the gardens with one of her books and her familiar.

Rubeus explores the flowering bushes and rolls in rich black soil, Ostara keeps one eye on him at all times to make sure he doesn't wander off but for the most part leaves her familiar to his own devices. She's more interested in reading about what is essentially foreign policy then watching her familiar pluck little mice and vermin from beneath bushes anyway.

And she's so consumed in her own thoughts about trade agreements and the benefits of having Myrish lace imported that she almost completely misses when Tywin Lannister rounds the corner and pulls to a halt as Rubeus whips around to snarl at him.

"Enough." Ostara commands, eyes never truly leaving her page for more then a second.

"A strange pet." Tywin remarks as he inches his way closer.

"Better then I dog, I assure you." Ostara replies while slipping a scrap of parchment between the pages she's currently reading.

Rising, Ostara smiles politely and turns to fully address her father's old friend.

He hasn't changed much since the last time Ostara saw him. His hair is still slicked back, he's still wearing the rich maroon doublet, he looks every bit a king as one would expect a king to look. Minus the crown, of course.

"A dog would suit a young Lady of your stature better." Tywin remarks absently, eyes never leaving the shadowcat now lounging in the shade offered by a rose bush.

Deciding to ignore the comment as it wasn't meant as anything more then an observation, a sexist observation but an observation none-the-less, Ostara offers a polite smile to the man standing before her.

"Was there something you wished to discuss, Lord Lannister?"

The man in question allows his eyes to drag over her form. From the perfectly braided hair to the plain black slippers on her feet. Nothing is safe from the inquisition in his gaze. Ostara almost feels like a specimen under a microscope.

"Your father has asked me to look after you while you are in King's Landing."

"I should thank him then," Ostara dips her head, "though I suspect you've more important things to deal with."

Instead of answering Tywin merely raises a yellow-gold eyebrow at her and moves to turn away. The book in her hand feels suddenly heavy, the words she'd read only an hour ago at the forefront of her mind. Ostara almost can't help the question from spilling out of her mouth but she understands that offending Tywin Lannister is the last thing she wishes to do.

"May I ask a personal question, Lord Lannister?"

The man tenses a great deal and his eyes go steely but he offers a sharp nods of permission.

"Why have you not given Castamere new Lordship? I understand that a great deal of the castle is subterranean so it wouldn't be impossible to make it livable again. I'm only asking because I understand that Castamere is rich with silver and gold... I find it strange that as the Lord of a great house you wouldn't capitalize on that wealth."

There is a furrow between Tywin's brows, it makes his look vaguely enraged. Ostara isn't worried though. He can't do anything to her, and even if he tried Ostara could easily stop him.

"Casterly Rock is rich with gold and silver as well, girl, I've no need for Castamere's mines." Tywin retorts and it makes Ostara shake her head.

"You've no use for it now, no, but that isn't to say you won't need it in ten years. No mine is eternally rich."

"And aside from gold what good would Castamere do me?"

"Well for one thing it would allow you to place a member of your own family in another seat of power." Ostara looks the man dead in the eye, because she knows that power is the one thing that drives men like Tywin Lannister. "Ser Kevan perhaps? I hear he's quite devoted to you and to House Lannister as well."

There is a moment of silence before Tywin Lannister's jaw stops ticking and he offers a stiff smile.

"And you think it is as easy as that?"

"Certainly not. Opening up the mines wouldn't be terribly difficult but you'd need to ensure that there weren't any tunnels where water might have been trapped lest the tunnel with gold and silver become inaccessible, any structural damage would need to be taken care of before you could start mining or have anyone living within the halls. Frankly, the amount of coin you would have to put into reopening the mines would be enough to deter lesser men."

She finds it rather amusing that Tywin Lannister, the man who pulled the Lannister name out of the rubble of its own making, seems relatively put out. Perhaps vaguely annoyed. Ostara isn't sure if he's bothered more by her boldness or the fact that he's even having this conversation with her. Probably both.

Either way, Ostara makes sure to tread very carefully.

Whatever's coming for them, whatever it is that's lurking in the dark, Ostara is going to need friends. And who better to befriend then Tywin Lannister? Not only is he the head of one of the richest houses in the entirety of Westeros but he's incredibly intelligent as well. It's very possible that she'll be needing his eye for strategy in the future.

All the same, she thinks the mines of Castamere should be reopened. Preferably sooner then later.

"Think about it," Ostara phrases it more as a question then a command, "I think that it could be beneficial to reopen the mines. The payback alone would more then cover the coin you'd have to spend if Castamere truly is as rich with gold and silver as some would claim... If you'll excuse me, Lord Tywin, I believe I've lingered in the gardens a bit too long."

The man standing across from her raises an eyebrow but bows his head slightly before pivoting on his heel and walking away.

Ostara watches him go for a moment before tapping her palm against her skirt to catch Rubeus' attention so that she can leave without questioning if her familiar has decided to tag along behind her. Rubeus typically doesn't stray but Ostara doesn't trust half of the people in King's Landing well enough to leave her shadowcat to wander on his own.

~X~

Viserys is a bright eyed little boy with pale skin and silver hair curling softly around his little ears. He gurgles happily when he sees Rhaella, wiggling fiercely and reaching for his mother despite the nurse maid's firm hold. Rhaella takes him, dismisses the woman, and places sweet kisses onto the boy's round cheeks as the woman strides out of the nursery.

While his mother peppers his face with kissed Ostara allows herself to look around the nursery. It's very extravagant. Golds and creams with murals of dragons painted along the wall and handcrafted furniture that looks far too expensive then it has any right to be. Ostara thinks that the windows might be a bit low but there's no way for a small babe to accidentally climb out before he or she is too old to even be staying in the nursery anymore.

The only reason she's even in the nursery to begin with is because the Queen had summoned her personally not half an hour ago. None of the other Ladies have been summoned and so Ostara thinks that either the Queen wishes to show off her son, which is possible, or she has ulterior motives.

"Viserys, love, you have a guest." Rhaella coos as she turns little Viserys to face Ostara.

There is a moment where they stare at one another before the little boy presses back against Rhaella, eyes wide and perhaps a bit scared. Ostara offers the boy a smile but refuses to discomfort him by reaching out to stroke his silvery hair.

"This is Lady Ostara Baratheon, she is my Lady-in-Waiting." Rhaella tells Viserys.

It seems like there's more she wants to say.

Ostara suspects it has to do with a possible betrothal or a hope for one.

But instead of ruining Rhaella's joy by telling her that a betrothal isn't likely to happen Ostara simply says, "He is very sweet."

Rhaella positively beams, "Yes. I do hope he grows to be like his brother... Rhaegar is very sweet as well. A bit quiet perhaps, solemn, but a sweet boy."

Ostara isn't going to comment on the fact that Rhaella has just attempted to endear her son to Ostara, or at least endear the idea of him. Ostara already knows what Rhaegar is like.

He's quiet but not shy, he enjoys singing and playing instruments as opposed to playing war, he prefers legends over histories, and he's humorous. It's a dry kind of humor but Ostara's found amusement in some of the letters he's written to her over the years.

Ostara smiles kindly and remarks, rather boldly, "Perhaps with the right influences he will."

"Come, we'll take tea." Rhaella says, moving her babe so that she can hold him more securely as she makes her way out of the nursery.

Rubeus trots behind, blue eyes trained on the little boy in the Queen's arms. He makes a noise, something between a purr and a delighted rumble and lopes back to Ostara's side. He misses Renly, sweet Renly who used to clamber up to lay on Rubeus' side whenever the shadowcat dared to stretch out across the ground, who would squeal delightedly when Rubeus would pick him up by the back of his clothes and carry him about.

It had always terrified their mother, seeing Rubeus carrying her youngest around like that, but the shadowcat had never hurt Renly. And besides, he'd only started it when Renly'd gotten old enough to toddle around and potentially harm himself.

Without thought Ostara curls her fingers through the fur growing at the nape of Rubeus' neck and allows him to guide her along after the Queen.

~X~

"Lady Ostara."

The greeting startles her, causes her shoulders to tense and her fingers to curl into a tight fist. It takes her a moment to realize it's Rhaegar, standing in the corridor in rich velvet the color of roses.

Ostara offers a polite smile, "Your Highness, you startled me."

"I apologize," her friend says as he steps closer, "it was not my intention."

"Of course it wasn't. I'm sure you've got much better things to do then linger in corridors and frighten young women."

She ignores Ser Dayne who stands smirking in the shadows mere feet behind Rhaegar.

"Are you off to the Rookery?" Rhaegar asks, diverting the conversation from possibly inappropriate topics.

"Yes, I've written a letter to Stannis and I wish to see it off personally." Ostara says as she fingers the seal keeping the letter safe from prying eyes.

A personal sigil that Ostara designed herself. It had taken a while to get the runes correct but eventually Ostara had designed something that not only looked aesthetically pleasing with it's antlers and flowers, but ensured the privacy of her letters as well. It's a shame that she hadn't been able to finish it sooner but what is, is.

"May I escort you?" Rhaegar asks.

"If it please you."

With a charming smile Rhaegar offers her his arm and Ostara takes it, allowing Rhaegar to guide her through the long corridors of the Red Keep with Arthur Dayne trailing silently behind them to act as a personal guard. He stays far enough away to give them some privacy but close enough to intervene should anything unfortunate happen.

Ostara's thankful for it.

It gives her a chance to inquire after Rhaegar's father.

"How is your father, Rhaegar? I've not heard anything about his injuries." Ostara murmurs.

Rhaegar's smile is a bit thin as he replies with a soft, "Maester Pycelle thinks he should be well enough to return to court in a few weeks. His injuries are healing well but he's quite thin. The Maester thinks it best to keep him away from court until he's regained his strength."

"I'm glad to hear that your father's doing well Rhaegar, truly."

"Thank you Ostara, it's very kind of you."

Smiling, Ostara curls her fingers just a bit tighter around Rhaegar's arm but doesn't say anything else. Rhaegar's smile is less tense now and Ostara doesn't comment on it, instead she opts to travel the rest of the way to the rookery in companionable silence. And after she has sent off her letter Rhaegar escorts her back to her chambers where he leaves her with another one of his gentle smiles and a chaste kiss pressed upon her knuckles.


	26. Audaces Fortuna Iuvat

Ostara isn't necessarily the best artist. She supposes she has more skill now then she's ever had in some of her previous lives due to the fact that one of the less mundane forms of entertainment in this world comes from drawing. Ostara's been practicing more and more since she obtained the fine motor skills to actually draw with the bits of charcoal and delicate quills that are available to her. All the same, she's thankful for the skill for a number of reasons.

The journal she'd managed to find is slowly filling up with drawings of dragons and tidbits of information she's gained from observing them. It's especially important that she does this because Ostara's dragons, her children, are essentially the first of their kind.

Sighing quietly to herself Ostara very carefully sketches the sharp curve of the spikes jutting out from around Orlaith's head.

The past few weeks have been stressful to say the least. There's been a bit of a shift in the behavior of her dragons, nothing terrible, but Ostara can tell that something is off. None of the dragons have grown aggressive toward her or Rubeus, none of them have begun acting dangerously, and none of them have ever made Ostara feel threatened by their presence... But still... Something has changed.

 _Mother_ , Janus climbs into her lap and presses his snout into her belly, _what are you doing?_

"Taking notes." Ostara replies.

Janus twists his head to stare at the page in her journal that Ostara is currently working on. She isn't sure he can understand the words scrawled across various parts of the page but his focus isn't there anyway.

A low chirp rises from the little dragon's throat as he turns to stare up at her.

 _I do not understand._

"I'm drawing pictures of each of you and writing down your behavioral patterns and your dietary needs." Ostara explains as she moves to write something new in the book under Orlaith's wing.

Janus stares at her for another second or so before sliding off of her lap and making his way over to where Milren is trying to rearrange his nest.

Ostara watches as Janus' wings twitch, chest puffing out, neck curling to give the illusion of superior height.

It's a threat display. One Milren has no tolerance for.

And it only takes a few seconds for Milren to close the distance between the two and take Janus to the ground. The two dragons roar at each other, hissing and screeching at one another. They continue to act like this until Ostara manages to pry them apart and place them on their respective hoards.

"Stop that! Fighting is not appropriate! If you want more gold I can get you more gold but fighting is not an acceptable approach!" Ostara chastises the two dragons.

They avert their eyes but neither of them appear very contrite.

After a few more moments in which Ostara reprimands the two dragons the young witch gathers up her satchel and makes her way to the treasury so that she can gather more gold for her dragons. Once they're older Ostara will give them access to the treasures hidden away in various Valyrian keeps but for now she will give them gifts of gold and jewels from the treasury she has more immediate access to.

When Ostara reaches the treasury she makes sure to gather more then she needs but enough to split equally between her dragons. She also remains careful to pick object of preference for her dragons.

Milren likes gold, coins or jewelry it doesn't matter. So long as he can curl up in it and bed down.

Janus likes jewelry, rings and bracelets specifically. He likes to wear them like little crowns and necklaces whenever he can.

Orlaith prefers jewels. Rubies, emeralds, and topaz. It doesn't matter if they're laid in precious metal or raw.

They all get gold and silver and other such treasures but Ostara makes sure to pick out pieces that will please them all individually. And once her satchel is near full to bursting she makes sure it's tied shut before turning and making her way back to the laboratory.

~X~

 _Come North_ , the three-eyed crow commands.

"North? There's a lot of places North of where I am." Ostara remarks, pointedly eyeing the ramparts of Storm's End.

 _North_ , the crow says as he hops closer, _Beyond the Wall_.

"Beyond the Wall? What's so important that I need to travel Beyond the Wall?"

 _Knowledge, I can tell you of that which hides in the shadows._

"Oh?"

 _Yes, that and more._ The crow bobs its head enthusiastically. _I can show you what has been and what will come to pass._

"I didn't realize you were a seer."

The crow stills, the eye in the center of it's head blinking and dilating. Ostara almost fears that she's broken him until he shakes his feathers and hops closer.

 _Come North and I will show you._

"There's a lot of land once you've crossed over the Wall... Besides, I have no idea where I'd be going. It would take me weeks alone to travel wherever it is you'd want me to go."

 _The Heart Tree_ , the crow whispers, _find the Heart Tree and you will find your way to me._

"How do I know this isn't a trap? That you're not the thing I'm supposed to be fighting against?"

She has the feeling that the crow is amused with her. He certainly doesn't seem annoyed in any case. Ostara shakes her head and stares out at the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. This not-quite-a-dream makes her miss Storm's End more then she has since arriving at King's Landing.

 _You have eyes but you do not see._

"Are you trying to tell me something?" Ostara asks, lips curling in her amusement.

This time the crow seems rather annoyed with her all of a sudden. Ostara doesn't really blame him. She's been actively evading and deflecting his demand for her to come north for the better part of what feels like an hour, perhaps more, dreams are strange things after all and time moves differently in them.

 _Come North_ , the three-eyed crow demands before unfurling his wings and taking off into the air.

~X~

Ostara rises from beneath the water with a quiet gasp and a slosh of steaming water against the sides of the tub she'd transfigured. She raises her hands to push waterlogged hair out of her face before leaning back to against the raised lip of the tub while simultaneously extending her legs out in front of her.

It's honestly too early for Ostara to be up but considering she hasn't been sleeping well the past few evenings she supposes there's no use in staying in bed when she can be doing something productive. Relaxing in the tub in the wee hours of the morning can easily be seen as productive considering Ostara hasn't been this relaxed in weeks.

See, entirely justifiable.

Early summer heat makes the air a bit stuffy but not stiffing enough for the heat of the bath to be unpleasant. It is, however, a bit too stuffy for Ostara to bother with the scented oils typically poured into her baths by the maids.

Cerys or Melisandre will come in a few hours to collect her and help her prepare for her day. It's rather important that Ostara looks presentable today as it's the day King Aerys will be well enough to spend a few hours at court. She isn't stupid enough to think that the way she presents herself today won't have any effect on her time in King's Landing.

While she won't be wearing the gaudy fabrics and the ridiculous jewelry that the other ladies of court favor she will be dressed appropriately for the occasion. But until someone comes to tell her it's time to get ready Ostara will take the few precious hours she has to relax and tend to her own needs. Which include a bath and maybe a cat nap.

With the promise of a nap Ostara finishes her bath and rises from the tub so she can vanish the soapy water. She dries herself with a simpler spell, wraps herself up in a silk robe, and returns the transfigured tub to it's original state before moving to the bed where her clothes are laid out.

Once she's dressed Ostara crawls back into bed where she curls up around Rubeus' sleeping form and allows herself to slip into easy sleep.

~X~

"You look very lovely, Ostara." Cerys tells her later that morning.

Ostara glances away from the knot she's tying to keep her dress in place and smiles at the blonde.

"Thank you, Cerys."

Her dress is one she brought from Storm's End. A swath of yellow silk cut in the typical style worn by high born girls; a full skirt that brushes the ground, bell sleeves, a well embroidered bodice that overlaps and ties at the bust and the waist. It's a perfectly acceptable dress, a bit less gaudy then what the other women will be wearing but she thinks that with the addition of an ornate belt it isn't terribly out of place.

Once she finishes tying off the last of her knots Ostara goes slips her feet into the slippers she'd set out the evening before.

Across the room Cerys is kneeling before Rubeus so that she can scratch under his chin and make soft cooing noises at him. The shadowcat seems perfectly content to let the blonde shower him in affection. Ostara looks away from the two so that she can look in the mirror as she pulls her hair into a complicated braid more often seen in the Stormlands then King's Landing.

"Are you excited?" She hears Cerys ask.

"I'm relieved to know that King Aerys is feeling well enough to attend court."

If not for herself then for Rhaegar. While Aerys may be her King he is not so close to her as to inspire true concern for his health. Frankly, Ostara is sympathetic because she understands the humiliation and pains he likely suffered at Duskendale. Rhaegar on the other hand has every reason to be concerned for his father and Ostara will not begrudge him that little bit of humanity that might otherwise be mocked by other noble men and women.

"It must have been terrible... Being stuck in one's bed for so long doesn't sound all that entertaining." Cerys remarks.

Ostara hides her laughter beneath a cough.

"I assure you the King had plenty of entertainment." Ostara comments.

No one in their right mind would have left the king to sit and stew in his boredom. Even though he was supposed to be resting Maester Pycelle and Queen Rhaella ensured he was plenty entertained in one way or another.

Sighing, Ostara smooths down her skirt and turns to Cerys with a gentle smile.

"Well, I suppose I'd best be off. Apparently I'm to attend court with the rest of the Queen's Ladies."

Cerys giggles.

"Well then," she says, "you'd best be off! Wouldn't be right to keep the Queen waiting."

"No." Ostara shakes her head. "I suppose it wouldn't."

~X~

King Aerys looks terrible.

His skin is paler then usual- pallid and almost sickly yellow in places, his eyes sunken and viciously bright with the dark bruising under them, and he's lost enough weight to appear rather gaunt even after weeks of healthy meals and rest. Ostara thinks that he probably looks several times better then he had when he'd first arrived at King's Landing.

Maester Pycelle has done a good enough job returning the king to his former state of health but physical health is likely the only thing he's focusing on. Ostara doubts he'd listen to her if she said anything to him, too concerned with his own sense of self worth to take the advice of a young Lady to heart.

But she isn't so worried about little men's inflated egos. She's much more interested in trying to determine the exact mental state of the King. Obviously he suffers from his time spent in Duskendale but depending on his mental state Ostara might not be able to help. She's no mind healer and altering memories can only go so far to curb the King's madness.

He is, after all, a Targaryen.

What's the saying again?

 _Every time a new Targaryen is born, the Gods toss a coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land._

Such a vulgar saying, true, but vulgar none the less.

Ostara grits her teeth as she watches a young couple, obviously of the common folk, come to offer gifts to the King of the Seven Kingdoms. They are not the first to do so nor are they the poorest to come before the court but this is supposed to be a time where the people may come to bring their complaints and concerns before the King... Not this parade of gifts and well wishes.

There is a time and a place for such things and now is not that time.

"You look so angry, Lady Ostara." Lady Alysanne Rosby whispers, voice full of mock worry. "Do you not think the gifts acceptable for our King?"

"I think that if our King was in true need of these 'gifts' he would find a better way to acquire them." Lady Alysanne's pretty face twists and Ostara continues, "Some of these men and women are too poor to be parting with provisions that could keep their families fed and yet we expect them to give them away."

"Yes, to show their relief to see their King well and recovered."

"That's a fool's mentality Lady Alysanne and I took you better for a fool."

There's a low choking noise coming from Lady Laena's general direction but Ostara's done exchanging barbs with small minded Ladies. There are other things she wants to be doing with her time then watching people offer unappreciated gifts or listen to women mock the common folk.

One of the things Ostara ponders over is how best to go about bringing wealth to the common folk.

Obviously she has more then enough money in Valyria to last her a lifetime but she also has an entire clutch of dragons to support. Investing her money in different businesses would likely be the best way to go. If nothing else she could go to the Iron Bank and talk to them about her...

 _Oh_.

She's such a damned fool.

The Doubling Charm, while typically used to curse objects, would solve quite a bit of Ostara's problems.

While the jewelry and more distinct objects in Vlayria will remain safe from duplication the gold and silver will not. Possibly even some of the raw jewels as well. Anything that wouldn't be strange to have two of.

Biting the inside of her cheek Ostara thinks of where she'd like to start.

Obviously, educational systems would be best. What better way to ensure the betterment of the people then to offer them all the ability to read, write, and do mathematics? It would allow the people to develop necessary skills that would make it easier for them to obtain jobs, build businesses, and essentially create better lives for themselves. Even the women would benefit from it. If Ostara can just give them the opportunity to learn she thinks that, in time, King's Landing could become a thriving center of wealth and knowledge.

She doesn't realize court has ended until someone touches her shoulder.

It's Lady Laena Gaunt.

"You seemed very lost in thought." The blonde Lady says.

Ostara doesn't think she's ever seen the other woman so at peace.

The redness is gone from her eyes, the ghost of pain lingering but not prominent on her face, she even holds herself a bit more confidently. She looks almost like the young Lady she might have been before her brother's untimely death.

So to offer some kindness to the woman with the sad eyes Ostara simply smiles and nods her head.

"I suppose I was."

She doesn't say anything more then that.

Laena Gaunt doesn't ask her to.

~X~

"You wish to be an educator?" Melisandre inquires rather dryly when Ostara presents her idea to her most trusted companions.

It sounds as if the notion is entirely unacceptable and she can't believe Ostara would even consider something like that. Daevyn sends the woman a heated look before turning back to give Ostara his full attention. He and Cerys seem to be in full support of the idea, Ostara's thankful for it.

"Certainly not forever, but I've already taught Cerys to read and write what would a few children hurt?." Ostara tells them, fingers twisting almost anxiously around her sleeve hem.

Across from here the young woman in question beams and reaches across the table to take Ostara's hands in her own.

"I think it's a wonderful idea."

"And how, exactly, do you intend to do this? If you haven't forgotten you are Azor Ahai and you have a mission to see to." Melisandre butts in rather forcefully, causing Daevyn to groan loudly and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Azor Ahai, she says. It is always Azor Ahai with you." his fingers drop. "Might I remind you that Ostara is a _girl._ She's a long way from lopping off heads and leading battle charges or _whatever_ it is you think she'll be doing in the future."

Russet eyes burn in the sunlight filtering in through Ostara's solar window.

"You are a follower of R'hllor and as such you should not disregard our Lord's will so easily."

"My mother was a follower of R'hllor you heinous bitch."

"Enough! If you can't play nicely I will have you both escorted out." Ostara snaps which makes both adults whip around to face her.

This has been a rather heated debate between the two for some time now. Ostara isn't exactly sure when Melisandre went to Daevyn, because who else would have gone to him, but for several days now the two have been butting heads about Ostara's future and the like. Thankfully Cerys had accepted Melisandre's idea of Ostara being a mythical savior without so much as batting an eye, as if she'd somehow suspected it and was just waiting for someone to confirm her thoughts.

Noticing the heated glares both adults are sending her Ostara raises an eyebrow and levels each with a sharp look before returning to the previous matter of discussion.

"I think that starting in the orphanages would be best as children's minds are more malleable and I'd be able to monitor their living conditions as well."

"What will you teach them?" Cerys asks.

"Anything that I'm able to." Ostara drums her fingers against the smooth top of the table. "I'm aware that I won't be able to educate them forever or that I'll see them every day. At some point I'll have to hire an educator of some sorts, perhaps a Bravossi?"

"Why a Bravossi?" Melisandre inquires.

"There's said to be kind people by and large. I'd like to ensure that if nothing else the children being educated are being treated well."

The red haired woman sighs dejectedly and says, "If this is what you want to do then I shall support the decision."

"I think it's a good idea," Daevyn finally says, "especially once they've grown. An educated business owner is not so likely to be swindled as those that cannot read or notice the errors in their inventory."

Something sweet bubbles in Ostara's chest.

There will be no badges this time around, no knitted hats, no enraged declarations in corridors about elvish welfare. This time Ostara will simply go to the orphanage and educate the masses as she sees fit. If anyone tries to stop her or tell her that her place is in the Red Keep Ostara will deal with them accordinly. She is magic, after all, and even if no one knows it she's the most dangerous thing in King's Landing.

"Excellent, we'll start tomorrow." Ostara looks at her Dornish friend. "Are you too busy to accompany me to Flea Bottom?"

"Of course not, but why Flea Bottom?"

"It's the poorest part of King's Landing."

"I've made no plans for tomorrow. If you'd like to go to Flea Bottom then we shall go to Flea Bottom." Daevyn says after a long moment.

That warm bubbly feeling gets a lot warmer and bubblier.

"I'd like that." She says and for the first time in a week her smile feels entirely genuine.

They discuss plans for tomorrow and what Ostara will be doing before the sun dips low enough in the sky that Ostara decides to dismiss them so that they can go about their own business. Soon after all but Melisandre and Ostara are slipping from the room. Once the two are alone Ostara pours herself a glass of water and sips at it slowly as she figures out how best to approach the topic of the three-eyed crow and her dreams.

Ostara picks at the skin around her thumb nail before turning to look at Melisandre.

"I've had more dreams." Ostara says at last.

"About the Others?"

"About a three-eyed crow that tells me to go north, past The Wall."

Melisandre purses her lips for a long moment fore asking, "Why do it ask this of you?"

"I don't know. It claims it will tell me things, what's happened and what has yet too, secrets."

"And you believe it?"

"I don't know if I do or not, I thought it best to seek your counsel." Ostara admits.

Across the room Melisandre glances toward the fire place. There's no fire burning but even so Melisandre looks as though something is casting a sort of orange-golden glow across her skin. It makes her eyes appear something close to amber in their color. Ostara allows her time to sit and think as she's always hated when someone's interrupted her train of thought.

While Melisandre ponders over the information Ostara's given her the young witch finds herself becoming lost in thought as well.

Once, many years ago in a past life, she'd been lured into a trap alongside her friends. They'd been tricked with dreams and visions and no one had thought to question how odd it was that if Harry could see into Voldemort's mind then perhaps Voldemort could do the same.

Wetting her bottom lip with her tongue Ostara returns her attention to Melisandre and finds the woman staring at her through dark eyes.

"I would be very careful of this three-eyed crow, my Lady. The Great Other works in mysterious ways and it could be a trap set to bring about your doom."

"What do you suggest I do?"

"Nothing, yet, I'll pray to R'hllor for guidance." Melisandre says.

"Thank you."

The woman smiles kindly, or as kindly as she can when her eyes are narrowed and her brows furrowed.

"Of course."

Ostara watches as Melisandre turns in a sweep of billowing red robes and disappears from the room.

After she'd gone Ostara remains in the solar and ponders over their conversation. It is possible that her dreams are nothing more then dreams, Ostara's never been one to put much stock in dreams so it could be that her own stress and being in King's Landing has caused her subconscious to concoct a three-eyed crow that beckons her north. But it's also possible that something else is to blame for the dreams and if that's the case then she needs to be very, very careful about how she proceeds to deal with them.

With a tired groan Ostara rises and makes her way into her bedroom so that she can splash some water on her face and perhaps even lay down.


	27. Flea Bottom

_AN._

 _I feel like a need to clear some things up really fast. I know I put a comment about it in comments section but I feel like more people will read this then that. So here we go._

 _If you don't like the story, that's fine. I am in no way shape or form able to forcibly influence you and make your opinions invalid. I am, however, able to say that unless you're giving constructive feedback and criticisms then saying that you don't like the story or you're no longer going to read it isn't all that necessary._

 _Also, I feel like Daevyn's been getting a lot of heat recently and I'd like to make a few things clear about his character. Daevyn's commentary to Melisandre about Ostara being Azor Ahai is not a sexist remark. When he says, "Azor Ahain, she says. It is always Azor Ahai with you." it's an exasperated statement because Melisandre is_ always _talking about Azor Ahai - honestly, I think it would get a little old for anyone having to listen to it that isn't a devout believer. His next comment about Ostara being a girl is about her age, not her gender. Ostara is still in her early teens at this point and Melisandre is honestly pushing really hard for her to be a warrior, to save the world, and that's a lot of pressure to be putting on someone who is still a child._

 _Daevyn's reservations about her leading battle charges and fighting comes from the fact that Ostara is still young and doesn't have the training (or experience) needed to be winning battles or leading legions of soldiers. I understand why it might be seen as a sexist mindset, and maybe to a certain extent it is, but he's also the only one between he and Melisandre who's thinking of Ostara as a child and not as a savior or a soldier._

 _Thank you, enjoy the chapter._

* * *

"You shouldn't wear any of the dresses you brought from home." Cerys remarks as she sifts through the masses of Ostara's clothes.

"I can wear what I usually wear with Daevyn." Ostara doesn't look up from the list she's making.

In a few hours she and Daevyn will travel to Flea Bottom where they'll observe the current situation in the poverty stricken district and possibly even begin educating the children. It's not likely that she'll actually start educating the children today as she'll need to establish herself in the orphanage before she begins making waves. She'd hate for the matron to dismiss her and not allow her back should she think that Ostara's teaching are too... Extreme.

Hilariously enough, Ostara's plan to educate the common folk is rather extremist in its own right.

Common folk are not typically educated. If they are it's not likely they're taught anything but their letters and a bit of their numbers because many believe that because they are common, and therefore not as intelligent, that being able to do anything harder then sign their names or count coin is beyond their simple plebeian minds. What Ostara intends to do, what she intends to teach them, will makes waves among not only the common folk but the nobles as well.

"You can't wear a man's clothes, Ostara."

"Why not?"

"If anyone from the court saw you in a man's clothes while you were on your way to Flea Bottom they wouldn't have anything good to say. You need the support of the nobles just as much as you need the support of the common folk."

Ostara rests her chin on her hand.

"Then what do you suggest?" She asks.

"Do you remember my blue dress?"

"I'm not wearing your dress Cerys. It's yours and I'm not going to potentially it."

Ostara places her quill down and caps her ink bottle before she makes her way across the room to kneel beside Cerys. Together they sift through all of Ostara's simpler day dresses, putting anything deemed inappropriate to the side. Which means anything with excessive embroidery or overly vibrant colors are ignored for softer fabrics and more neutral shades.

Possibly alienating any of the common folk would be detrimental to what Ostara wants to accomplish but she also doesn't want to appear to be mocking them by dressing in what she assumes is every day dress.

Eventually Cerys approves of a taupe gown with simple white flower embroidery around the neckline and hems. It's rather plain in comparison to her other gowns but it still hints at the wealth of her family which will appease any nobles she might encounter tomorrow. Ostara thinks it's pretty, Cerys thinks it's perfect, so it ends up getting put off to the side with a slip, stockings, smalls, and a pair of sturdy boots that won't get ruined by anything unsavory she might end up stepping in.

Ostara is under no illusion that she'll leave Flea Bottom with perfectly pristine clothes but she's not going to wear her slippers. The soles are too soft and the fabric too thin. If she were to step in or on anything then it's possible that Ostara could injure herself. The boots are an old pair of Stannis' that she'd stolen from him and they'll do well to protect her feet.

Once all of the other gowns are put away the two girls clean up a bit and Ostara begins to braid her hair out of her face so that it doesn't bother her randomly throughout the day. It also looks more presentable this way, more professional.

"Can I confess something?" Cerys asks after a moment, causing Ostara to look away from the mirror and over to where her friend is sitting on her bed.

"Of course." Ostara whispers back, threading her fingers through Rubeus' fur.

A moment of silence and then, "I think what you're trying to accomplish is incredible. Not many would even think of doing what you're getting ready to do."

"I'm only trying to make life better for people."

"It's going to be amazing, Ostara. Simply incredible."

This makes the younger girl smile and shake her head before closing her eyes.

"Don't jinx it." She murmurs, too tired to be bothered by the pinch Cerys delivers to her side.

~X~

When Daevyn comes to collect her he's dressed in boiled leather and soft cotton. There's a sword strapped to his hip but Ostara knows there are more weapons hidden on his body somewhere and so she says nothing about the lack of subtlety. Neither of them are leaving the castle without some form of defense and neither of them are so foolish as to assume Flea Bottom is peaceful. Ostara is hardly surprised when Daevyn moves to slip a ring onto her finger, a simple bad of gold with a disk comprised of little onyx colored triangles that, when the base is twisted, are pushed up to form a pyramid sharp and strong enough to break skin or ruin someone's eye.

"Are you ready?" Daevyn asks.

"Quite." Ostara replies with a wide, toothy smile.

Beside her Rubeus rumbles impatiently before striding out into the corridor.

"Impatient little beastie." Ostara mutters as she moves to follow her familiar.

Daevyn laughs as he does the same.

"Does he remind you of anyone? He certainly reminds me of you." The Dornishman chortles.

"I am perfectly capable of being patient."

One dark eyebrow rises up the man's head as he says, "Very rarely perhaps."

Driving her elbow gently into his side causes Daevyn to laugh, a low snort of amusement that makes at least three different maids pause in their activities so that they can stare after the admittedly handsome dornishman. Ostara pointedly ignores them as she and her friend pass. Daevyn, however, does not. He smiles and winks and chuckles quietly when one made blushes hard and tries to turn away only to run hip first into a decorative table.

"How are we planning on getting to Flea Bottom?" Ostara asks as they turn a corner.

"We'll be taking my horse."

"Only the one?"

The look she gets is a dark one.

"Don't act foolishly, Ostara." He mutters.

The young witch snorts as she begins making her way down the stairs leading to the main floor of the Red Keep. From there Ostara and Daevyn can access the stables where they can gather their horse and make their way to Flea Bottom.

Ostara makes sure to ward her coin purse.

While she has plenty of money to spare it wouldn't be good to encourage thieves. If one, especially a child, were to get caught they could lose their hand... Or worse their lives. It would depend on who caught them stealing and from whom they were stealing from.

She refuses to be responsible for a child loosing their fingers or their _life_.

Hopefully educating the children, and adults, of Flea Bottom will help them obtain the skills necessary to pull away from a life of thieving and reckless behavior in favor of something a bit more grounded. Being a shop clerk has got to be better then risking a limb, right?

Silently, Ostara follows Daevyn into the stables where she finds another man waiting beside one of the stalls.

She recognizes him quickly enough as Ser Lewyn Martell.

Ostara's never met the man personally but he has a warm face, warmer eyes, and a pleasant smile. He is everything Ostara might have expected of a Martell and she's not disappointed to see that his eyes do not have the same viper-like quality as the princess. She thinks that he is imposing enough without that startling intensity.

"Ser Martell," Ostara greets causing the man to offer a wide smile.

"Lady Ostara, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Ser Lewyn say before placing a chaste kiss to her knuckles.

Ostara is quite charmed.

"I assure you the pleasure is mine. Might I inquire as to the reason you've decided to join us today?"

Across from her Lewyn is smiling a wide, dimpled grin. The amusement in his eyes gentle and full of kindness, not the harsh mocking glances she may have received from any other member of the Court. It's a nice reprieve.

"Did Daevyn ever tell you that we grew up together?" Lewyn asks.

"He did not."

A mischievous glance at the currently silent Dornishman makes Ostara want to snort.

"I was the one to teach him the sword."

This earns the man a curse and a crude gesture. "You taught me shit, Martell."

"Language."

"I've heard much worse, Ser Lewyn..." Ostara says, allowing her words to trail off as he turns a critical eye in her direction.

Something about the way he looks at her makes Ostara pull her shoulders back, raise her chin higher into the air, and stare him dead in the eye. There's is absolutely nothing malicious in the way he looks at her, nothing to make Ostara feel uncomfortable, but she knows when someone is sizing her up and Lewyn Martell is doing exactly that.

A few moments pass between them with nothing but the sound of their horses and Daevyn's quiet muttering to offer any sort of distraction.

Then Lewyn Martell smiles widely and says, "You remind me of my Nephew."

"Doran or Oberyn?"

"Both I suppose, but mostly you remind me of Oberyn... You've a look to you that reminds me of him. Something in the set of the jaw perhaps?" Lewyn shakes his head and snorts as if he's remembering something from days long since past.

Ostara isn't sure what to say in response to that as she's neither met Prince Oberyn nor heard anything about him that would make her take offense. Oberyn Martell is only six years her senior and at nineteen he's already fathered at least two daughters. Bastards, most would call them, but all in all they are merely children gotten on a whore from oldtown and a Volantene noblewoman.

Rumors have even hinted at another daughter being born to Oberyn Martell by a Septa and while it may just be wagging tongues the irony isn't lost on Ostara should it be true. In fact, it's rather amusing considering everything a Septa is supposed to represent and teach.

But there is nothing wrong with a woman having sex with a man, nothing wrong with a woman having children should she wish it, and there is certainly nothing wrong with a father wanting to be involved in his children's lives so long as he is kind to them. Ostara has never heard anything that suggests Oberyn Martell is cruel or disdainful of his children so if Oberyn Martell wishes to keep them close then that's his prerogative and no one else has any right to criticize his decisions on the matter.

Deciding that Ser Lewyn is likely trying to be complementary with his comparison between his obviously beloved nephew and a girl who's gained the affection of his childhood friend is easy enough. There's nothing to suggest that he hadn't meant it kindly and Daevyn has yet to offer any sort of reprimand. And so Ostara smiles.

"Then I'm glad to offer you even the smallest of amusements." Ostara says.

"And there," Ser Lewyn says as he shakes his head and turns away, "is Doran."

Beside her Daevyn snorts rather loudly before ushering her over to the horse waiting beside a rather bored looking Rubeus. Ostara offers her familiar a smile and a scratch before moving to climb up into the saddle behind Daevyn.

The Dornishman gently squeezes the hand she wraps around his waist before tapping his heels against his horse's flank and clicking his tongue against his teeth, causing the horse to snort before trotting off across the cobbled courtyard toward the main gate. Ostara glances back to find Rubeus chasing after them and Ser Lewyn following closely behind with a slight scowl, likely at having been left behind.

~X~

"Bowl O' Brown!" a woman in tattered clothing calls as she stirs a pot of mystery gook with a crudely carved wooden spoon. "Bowl O' Brown!"

"What is a 'bowl o' brown' _exactly_?" Ostara murmurs to either of her companions as they wander down a poorly kept street.

"Mostly barley, carrots, onions, turnips, and whatever meat the common folk can get they hands on. Typically rats or pigeons, though sometimes it's far more nefarious... I wouldn't recommend eating any lest you want to have an overly familiar evening with your chamber pot, Lady." Lewyn remarks rather darkly.

"Despite it's dubious origins and blatant disregard for sanitary it's a good way for the common folk to get whatever nutrients they need." Daevyn adds but even he looks rather disgusted as he watches a young man shovel spoonful of the slop into his mouth.

Ostara scowls.

"That's terrible."

"That's the way of it."

"Not for long." Ostara mutters.

And she has so many ideas, plans, running through her head that she almost forgets why they've come here in the first place.

Sanitary in Flea Bottom is horrid at best. People throwing their waste in the streets where children play and the adults step through it without a care in the world because they've learned to live with their lot in life. With no way to keep clean disease is likely spread rather quickly among the people and then the bodies are either left where they died or disposed of in other rather questionable ways.

It would be best to deal with the sanitary needs of the city as soon as possible. Ostara can do that later, sneak into Flea Bottom under the cloak of darkness and layer whatever spells she can think of to help with waste management. Of course, a proper sewer system would be best but to magically install one might be too obvious and Ostara isn't sure she's ready to out herself to the public like that quite yet.

"Lady Ostara?"

"Yes?"

Lewyn Martell raises a single eyebrow before turning to nod at a large, dingy two story building so very much like the others around it.

"The orphanage."

"Who owns it?" Ostara questions, eyes roaming over what she can see of the building.

"The crown."

 _Of course._

"Then I'd best find the matron and speak with her."

"It may be best if your looking to donate coin."

Ostara nods once before moving to step into the building with Rubeus at her side. She ignores the hesitant protests of Lewyn and Daevyn both. If anyone were going to try anything they'd have to get through Rubeus first and even then a single growl from the shadowcat would have Ostara pulling out either her wand or a dagger before anyone could touch a single hair on her head.

But still, their concern is sweet in it's own way.

Once she's through the door Ostara takes a moment to observe the orphanage and those living within.

There's a stone floor that's in relatively good condition, several doors lining the back wall and a small corridor that leads to what Ostara assumes is the kitchen. A staircase leads up to the second floor where Ostara can only just see more doors beyond the guardrail that must be used to keep little children from flinging themselves off the second floor. Light streams down from a large circle cut into the ceiling and as Ostara steps forward she soon finds herself stuck in a circle of colorful light.

Whoever initially built this orphanage had seemingly wanted to actually help the children who would end up here. Despite the poor condition of the building the material used to make it was of good quality considering the location of the orphanage...

Ostara sighs quietly before looking to the children milling about.

They come in all sorts of ages and they look as though they're being taken care of. A bit skinny perhaps but they seem healthy. Ostara's thankful for that at least, it means that the matron isn't spending any money being donated on herself and herself only.

Making her way over to one of the littler children sitting on a cracked bench Ostara kneels before the child and smiles brightly at him.

"Hello, my name is Ostara." She greets.

"Oscyr."

"How old are you Oscyr?" She asks, in part genuine interest and in part curiosity over whether he has learned any of his numbers.

He simply shrugs at her. Obviously unperturbed by the fact that he appears to be six or seven and can't even count that high. It's a travesty. One Ostara will be correcting in the very near future.

"Do you know where your matron is?" Ostara asks to which little Oscyr nods off in the direction on an elderly woman with kind blue eyes attempting to wrangle a group of small children. "Thank you, love."

Ostara leaves the boy with a gentle smile and makes her way over to the Matron who blinks in apparent shock when she finally notices Ostara.

"May I help you, my lady?" The woman asks, voice thick with an implacable accent and vague fear.

"Yes, are you the matron?"

"I am."

"Excellent, I'd like to discuss patronage with you." Ostara says as she glances around once more at the children.

Soon enough she'll see them in better clothing and in better health. So long as the matron accepts her patronage, of course.

"Patronage?"

"Yes, I'd like to become a patron."

"But you're a woman."

"Lady Ostara Baratheon, yes, I believe that should qualify me as such."

The matron makes a noise in the back of her throat that might sound a bit like a complaint before she schools her features and offers a timid grin that looks like it could cut glass.

"I'm afraid this establishment hasn't had a patron in well over a decade."

"Then how do you obtain funding?"

Something hot curls in Ostara's chest when the woman merely says, "We monthly a weekly sum from the crown."

Monthly.

A monthly sum.

How is that to actually help the children in this orphanage? How is it meant to cover the cost of their clothes or their food? Is it even enough to cover spontaneous medical needs? Ostara finds herself growing sick at the thought of little children dying simply because there wasn't enough money to cover the cost of their medicine.

With surprisingly steady hands Ostara reaches for her coin purse and removes it from her belt.

"Well, I'd like to add to that." Ostara quickly places the coin purse in the woman's hand. "It's not much; an assortment of dragons, stags, groats."

"I... My Lady..."

"It's for the children. I wish only for it to go to the benefit of them and the orphanage." Ostara insists and the woman merely nods, staring at the purse as if she can't believe she's just received anything at all.

"Of course, of course."

Ostara casts Daevyn a glance and he shrugs before turning his attention back to the little girl currently wrapping her fingers around his.

"Should you need anything at all send a message to Daevyn Sand at the Red Keep, it shan't be ignored that way."

Meaning - if a commoner comes with a message to a bastard it won't be ignored.

Seemingly unable to comprehend what's going on the matron nods slowly before shifting back and away, coin purse clutched protectively to her breast. Ostara watches her for a long moment before she turns her attention back to the children.

They remain at the orphanage for some time so that Ostara can speak with the children and entertain them with stories of dragons and magic and a boy who lived under the stairs. They are captivated by her, vying for her attention and some of them even cry when she attempts to depart the first time, only stopping when Ostara promises to come and visit them again.

Once they've left Ostara finds that she can't help but smile for she's done a good thing today, no matter what anyone says, she's done a good thing. And in King's Landing? That's a rare thing indeed.

~X~

The shop Lewyn Martell leads her to is quaint; pale stone, large windows, a chipped blue door that's propped open with a brick. It seems clean enough on the outside, but then, it is farther away from the dirtier parts of Flea Bottom.

Ostara laces her fingers through Rubeus' fur as she steps through the door and into the warmly lit interior of the building. Daevyn and Lewyn flank her, hands held carefully at their sides. Ostara ignores them in favor of making her way to a table where she takes a seat and motions for Rubeus to lay at her feet like the well behaved familiar he is.

It doesn't take long for her companions to do the same or for a woman to shuffle over to their table.

Ostara offers the woman a kind smile before she asks, "What would you recommend?"

"Bread's fresh, stew too."

"Then I'll take three bowls and a loaf." Ostara says.

"And the beast?" The woman asks as she casts the shadowcat a terrified glance.

"Rubeus? Oh, a bowl of water if you don't mind sparing it."

The woman nods briskly, obviously not happy with having a shadowcat in her establishment, and makes her way to the back of the shop. Ostara understands, she does. Under different circumstances Ostara might have felt the same way. Not many people can boast that they've got a pet shadowcat and their reputations aren't great. They're mostly known as relatively dangerous beasts that will eat humans if hungry enough.

While they wait for their food Ostara turns to Ser Lewyn and Daevyn.

"Thank you for accompanying me." She says to the two men.

"It was my pleasure, Lady Ostara." Lewyn replies, smiling broadly as he leans back in his chair.

Beside him Daevyn nods.

"It's a good thing, what you're doing for those children," he says. "Not many people care for bastards and orphans in these parts."

Ostara ignores the pointed look the two Dornishmen share with one another, opting instead to glance toward the back of the shop where the woman is gathering bowls and cups.

"Children are the future of the world are they not? What kind of person would I be if I didn't want them to thrive?" Ostara asks though it's fairly rhetorical as she's not really expecting either of them to answer her question.

They seem to sense that too because neither say anything about how Ostara's such a good person or how she's so sweet for taking an interest in the common folk as some of the other court members of King's Landing might say. It's strange to Ostara that none of them take particular interest in the common folk. Ostara takes interest because they are human beings with feelings and dreams, but if the other nobles will not take interest for the same reason then perhaps they would if it meant gaining support.

She's nearly startled when the woman appears and sets down a series of cups before disappearing only to return moments later with bowls and a plate of bread. After she's shuffled off, quick to be away from Rubeus, Ostara picks up her spoon and begins eating alongside her companions.

"It's good," Ostara says after a moment. "Why is no one else here?"

"People around here can't always afford fresh food and Myra doesn't handle anything less then that." Ser Lewyn replies after he's wiped his mouth with a cloth.

"Has she had to raise prices?"

"Not always, but even when she doesn't it's cheaper to get a bowl of brown then fresh stew."

Ostara frowns as she dips her spoon into her stew. Having fresh food as opposed to the questionable bowls o' brown being sold from pot shops would improve at least some of the health in Flea Bottom but with no steady income it's likely easier to afford the sludge sold on street corners then anything else. How sad that is. There are laws preventing bakers from putting sawdust in their bread but nothing ensuring that little children aren't consuming half rotten or diseased flesh.

"Well, on the bright side our food isn't full of human meat and year old vegetables." Daevyn remarks blandly around a mouthful of bread.

"Yes, because I would have ever let myself eat a bowl of brown." Lewyn comments idly.

"I bet it's better then you think."

"Now you're just being obnoxious."

Daevyn drums his fingers against the table as he stares out the window at the men and women scurrying around in search of food, pleasure, or shelter. Whatever he's thinking about isn't necessarily a bad thing as he's not clenching his jaw or glaring into thin air. Still, Ostara's not fool enough to think that he isn't upset about something.

She wonders, briefly, if Daevyn's ever been forced to rely on questionable materials to survive. If he's been so close to starving that the fear of possibly consuming human flesh isn't even a thought in his mind. Ostara's never suffered that, not that she can remember anyway, but she does understand hunger and cannot begrudge someone for taking the necessary steps to stay alive.

Even so, she thinks that the people of Flea Bottom need better resources as no one deserves to live the way these people are being forced to live. It's something she'll have to deal with soon enough. Ostara's not going to live in the same city as an entire group of people who are suffering and not doing anything about it simply because she's too rich or too pretty.

"How much do we owe for the food?" She asks as she digs into the hidden pocket of her dress for some coin.

She's stopped when Daevyn drops a few on the table as he levels her with a look that says that no matter what Ostara says or how much she insists, neither of the men with her will allow her to pay for their meals. It might be a bit too much for their pride to handle.

"Are you done then, Lady Ostara?" Ser Lewyn asks.

"Personally, yes, but we can linger a moment. I've no where to be." She assures, noting that there's still a bit of stew in his bowl.

Even though he nods Ostara can tell that he's eating a bit quicker then he probably would have otherwise and instead of saying anything about it she proceeds to gather up the loaf she ordered. She has every intention of doubling it until there's enough to feed a small army. That way she can come out with Melisandre and Cerys, possibly even Ser Lewyn and Daevyn, and pass out bread to the common folk who might not be able to afford it otherwise.

By the time Lewyn has finished his stew Ostara's already planned another outing and Daevyn has gone and gotten the horses so that they're ready when she and Lewyn make their way out of the shop.

Ostara allows Daevyn to help her into the saddle because, well, it's a bit awkward scrambling up on the back of a horse with another person. When she settles herself Ostara decides that next time she'll have to convince Daevyn to let her bring her own horse. He'll fight against the idea, of course, but Ostara doesn't want to have to ride passenger another time.

Once is one time too many honestly.


	28. A Favor for a Favor

The next week passes in a flurry of activity.

Ostara visits the Flea Bottom again, only this time she brings bread and clothing that she's found and duplicated. She passes the food and clothing out to the common folk that need it along with Cerys while Melisandre preaches to those who will listen. Many of the common folk seem rather happy that she's showing interest in their personal plights whenever she speaks to them about the happenings of Flea Bottom under the watchful eye of Daevyn and Lewyn, who stand silently and imposing only a few feet away.

When she's not establishing herself with the common folk or spending time with the children at the orphanage, Ostara finds herself in Valyria with her dragons; practicing new magics and looking for anything she can find that mentions the Others. While there isn't much she does find a few books focused on the history around the time Azor Ahai was first alive.

While she reads she listens to her dragons.

The little beasties have been more excitable then usual, alternatively muttering about siblings and power and gold.

It makes Ostara a bit nervous, and so she keeps one eye on her dragons at all times whenever she visits them. Not because she doesn't trust them, but because she's not a dragon. She has no idea if this behavior is acceptable or not and she'd really rather not have her children do something that will get them killed... Or injured. Neither is good and avoiding such an outcome would be best.

But they've reached a stage similar to the 'awkward teenage' stage that most animals tend to go through. Heads too angular, bodies too lanky, wings growing to accommodate the nearly excessive amount of body mass the dragons are slowly begin to acquire with their growth spurts. Ostara's been forced to take more gold from the other keeps in Valyria to tend to their needs as well as provide more food.

Thankfully, they've begun going out to hunt on their own.

Ostara's read more books about dragons then she honestly knows what to do with and at this point the only similarity between Targaryen dragons and her dragons is the need for food and space to grow. And seeing as the books have stopped offering her anything worthwhile Ostara has stopped relying on them as much as she had in the beginning when her dragons had been young.

Now she spends more time with them doing things that, seemingly, make them happy.

Like right now.

Ostara finds herself standing on a little stretch of sand and sea, the legs of her pants rolled up to just under her knees, and her shirt sleeves wet as she digs for shells while Janus, Milren, and Orlaith dart between playing in the water to shooting through the air.

 _Mother!_ Milren trills as he swoops down to hover near her body. _Join us._

"I can't fly like you can." Ostara intones as she tosses a chunk of sea glass into a bucket she's transfigured.

 _Then I shall carry you,_ Orlaith says while dropping down onto the sand and extending a wing out so that it's no longer obscuring her side.

"You're too small right now. When you're bigger I'll figure out a way to make myself a little saddle and we'll try flying together." Ostara promises, smiling kindly at the red and gold dragon.

 _Saddle? What is a saddle?_

Ostara casts Janus a look before replying, "A saddle is essentially a leather seat that people ride in to help them stay on their mounts... Some people ride bareback but I find it too difficult to stay balanced."

A series of high pitched trills tells the young witch that she's thoroughly amused her dragons.

 _You do not need a saddle_ , Milren say. _You are our mother, we would not let you fall._

"There are some things that are not in your control." Ostara says, mind drifting to all the different ways she and her dragons could end up hurt.

Ostara's never been in the air before. She isn't sure she shares the same fear for flying that Hermione Granger had carried with her through the short duration of her life. Thus far heights haven't bothered her and her dragons seem so determined to keep her safe, so it's a comfort her previous incarnation hadn't been able to keep close to her heart... But still, nothing is ever certain.

 _What would be out of our control mother? The sky is our home, we were born to fly and our wings are steady._

"If someone were to see you they may grow frightened and where better to hunt for dragons then Valyria? They could kill me, kill you, or find a way to separate us and take you far away."

A stretch, but not impossible.

Nothing is impossible, as Ostara has come to learn.

 _Weak men cannot kill a dragon, mother_ , Orlaith snarls, _and you are just as much a dragon as we are_.

"Weak men can do a lot of things if they're scared enough." Ostara tells them, tucking an escaped curl behind her ear. "Years ago the Targaryens of Westeros had dragons, they were kept in a dragonpit... During a siege on the pit common folk slaughtered the guards protecting the pit and then proceeded to kill the dragons within. Many of the common folk died during the attack but in the end the dragons weren't strong enough to break free of their chains and so they were slaughtered as well."

The only sound between them is the crash of waves against the shore and the distant cry of seagulls who are too afraid of the dragons on the beach to come close enough to be a bother.

Ostara takes a moment to study her dragons.

Orlaith is a striking sort of beauty with red and gold scales that shine in whatever light manages to touch them and her horns. She's the biggest of the three but that's not uncommon among female dragons. She's also the most aggressive. Janus is beautiful too, in a different way. His scales are darkest ebony that only seems to make the purple of his spikes and his eyes seem too vibrant. So different from Milren's pearly coloring and delicate build.

None of them are fragile creatures and Ostara can see why they would be so sure of their own ability.

 _Were they magical bonds that kept those dragons trapped?_ Milren's remark startles Ostara, _Goblin made and enchanted?_

"No, I don't believe so."

 _Then they did not deserve to live_. Milren shakes his head and turns to level Ostara with an opalescent stare. _Only the strong survive mother. The weak die but the strong remain. We are the strong, mother, and the strong protect each other._

Ostara nods hesitantly, not sure if it's an appropriate response but it seems to please the three dragons because they close ranks around her and slowly press their noses to various parts of Ostara's body, breathing in deeply and letting out nearly scorching puffs of red.

She doesn't know what to do with herself.

So she ends up curling her arms around Janus' head and offering a makeshift hug that brings very little comfort to the witch but quite a bit to the three dragons that have pressed in around her.

~X~

"You seem anxious today Ostara."

Ostara looks up from the letter she's been going over to meet the concerned gaze of the Queen.

"I'm quite alright, Your Grace." Ostara promises as she rearranges her parchments before carefully rolling them up.

She ties them off with a bit of grey ribbon and tucks them into her embroidery basket with her threads, needles, and fabric scraps. No one with mess with them while they're in the basket and none of the Queen's other Ladies-in-Waiting are around yet to pry into Ostara's personal business... Not that they would anyway, they're all too afraid of Rubeus to attempt something like that. But for another few minutes it's just Ostara and the Queen, which is perfectly alright with Ostara.

"Are you certain? You look pale?" Rhaella comments.

"I was just reading a letter from Stannis." Ostara replies.

This seems to surprise the Queen because her eyes widen and she sits a bit straighter before speaking. "Oh? How is your brother? I believe he is fostering with under Lord Morrigen is he not?"

Ostara bites the inside of her cheek before nodding.

"Yes, your Majesty, he was just telling me of his training."

While she's not lying about the letter being from Stannis she doesn't tell the Queen that her twin had been moaning about how unfortunate it is that he wasn't blessed with her particular skill set. Apparently, it would be so much easier to train if he had magic. He'd never lose. Ostara has every intention of telling her brother that those who rely too heavily on magic end up forgetting that there are physical attacks at some point or another.

Telling the Queen about her magic and Stannis' knowledge of it might not be the best idea. She doesn't know the Queen well enough to say whether or not she's trustworthy and Ostara doesn't have enough support from the common folk or the court members of King's Landing to expose herself yet... If she were to tell Rhaella what all Stannis had to say it could end up being very beneficial or very detrimental to Ostara's health. No matter what Ostara will not put Stannis' life in danger.

A likely outcome should the Queen be a vicious harpy in disguise.

"It is good that you share such a close bond with your siblings, Ostara," Rhaella says and her eyes are sad. "I had hoped to give Rhaegar many siblings to play with but alas... Perhaps he will be able to boast what Aerys and I could not."

"Perhaps." Ostara agrees, unwilling to fall into the maybe-trap Rhaella has just placed at her feet.

No one's spoken of a betrothal being finalized between her and Rhaegar, honestly Ostara couldn't care less what Aerys or any other member of course try to force her into. Ostara won't marry Rhaegar if she doesn't want to. Forcing her into anything will only prove fruitless on their parts and it wouldn't be any skin off Ostara's back.

Rhaella smiles widely and inclines her head, "One can only hope that the Gods smile down upon him and his bride."

Ostara nods slowly before turning her attention to the needlework she'd started days ago, effectively ending the conversation before she ends up saying anything nasty to the Queen that she can't play off or take back..

Dragon scales, she's come to realize, are incredibly hard to replicate on fabric.

This world doesn't have access to all of the dyes Ostara would need to recreate any of her dragon's scales. On top of that, it's incredibly difficult for Ostara to stitch with the exact precision needed to replicate Orlaith's wings or Janus' tail or Milren's neck. She's just not a talented enough embroiderer for all that nonsense... But she tries anyway. It's not like anyone is going to see it aside form herself. If she were going to gift it to someone then perhaps she would use her magic to make it more beautiful but there's really no point to that if she isn't going to.

Several minutes pass in relative silence between the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and Ostara before the other Ladies-in-waiting finally wander into the shade cast by the Queen's sun shelter. The canvas has been dyed a deep red with black dragon motifs painted here and there. Very extravagant. Ostara likes it, which is saying something because she's starting to think that the dragon motifs in this place are getting a little old.

At least her father hadn't forced the entire household to decorate Storm's End in golds and black, or covered the walls with dead stags. There are banners, yes, but those are mostly contained to the parapets and the great hall. The various personal chambers found within the keep had been decorated a bit more subtly.

It's just a bit exhausting to see the same colors and decor every single day.

Fortunately so her there are ways to combat the near constant repetitiveness of her life as of late. Valyria is very pretty after all, and as soon as she finds a safe way to get there Ostara is going North. Beyond the Wall, into the eternal winter where the three-eyed crow waits for her and calls for her in her dreams.

~X~

"Is that how we hold a quarterstaff, Ostara?" Daevyn asks later that day as he and Ostara train in one of the quieter areas of King's Landing.

He'd been the one to find the piece of land jutting out from the gardens to meet the sea and had determined it private enough to use for training. Ostara thinks that at one point it might have been used for some sort of Lady's activity? It's not close enough to the barracks to be a obscure part of the training yard and there aren't even benches for anyone to sit on.

Ostara winces as something smacks into the side of her thigh.

"That was childish." She tells Daevyn as she readjusts her grip on her staff.

Her Dornish friend shrugs.

"If you'd been paying any attention to your lesson then perhaps you would have blocked it."

Ostara glares as she moves to duck under the heavy wooden staff end that Daevyn swings at her head. She thinks that if he weren't trying to teach her the staff, that if they were enemies, then he wouldn't have had any trouble smashing her temple in. Thankfully, this is a new weapon and Daevyn is being sure to take things slowly until she'd better acquainted with the staff.

"Why is it you wish to teach me this skill anyway?" Ostara asks as she advances toward her teacher. "It's not like I'm going to just pick up a quarterstaff one day and start swinging."

"No, but you might find yourself in a position where you have nothing but a staff to defend yourself with." He swipes at her ankles, Ostara deftly jumps over the wood and shifts away. "It is not like a spear, there is no metal with which you may stab your opponent."

"So I'm going to be using blunt force trauma to kill my enemies? Lovely."

Daevyn strikes her in the side, driving the air from her lungs very briefly. Panting heavily Ostara shifts her grip on the quarterstaff so that she can hold it in one hand while her other wraps around her side to check for any broken bones. As she pours her magic into the space, finding nothing broken or cracked, Ostara takes a jab at Daevyn's throat.

That's something else he taught her; fight dirty.

Of course, she'd already known that people on the battlefield weren't always going to be honorable. Too many years of fighting had ruined that fancy bit of ideology for her. But Daevyn had insisted that some of their lessons be focused on the areas of the body that hurt the most, bled the most, and caused other little bits of nasty damage to the body. Ostara had found it interesting enough but she's never had a live demonstration, which is why she finds herself revealed when her attempted at hitting Daevyn's laryngeal prominence proves fruitless.

"Or you could damage there airways." Daevyn comments dryly before lunging for her shoulder.

Ostara spins out of the way, raises her staff, and only just manages to bring it down on Daevyn's rump as he shoots past.

Watching as the older man slows to a trot and then a walk Ostara wonders if she's getting better or if Daevyn's distracted. He's never just let her land a blow for the fun of it, finding that such an act doesn't do anything for either of them. There could be something on his mind, however, something distracting enough for him to loose focus every now and again.

That, or Ostara's just gotten better.

Tossing the staff between hands Ostara bends her knees and plants her feet on the ground. One's stance is very important after all. Ostara's less likely to lose her balance if she's got her body exactly where it needs to be at all times and she's been made painfully aware of that over the years. Daevyn's taught her well, there's more to learn she knows but as of now she's at a place in her life where Ostara feel confident enough to say that she's _good_.

This time when Daevyn comes running at her again Ostara spins away from him, ducking and weaving under his attacks to get away from him so that she can get a good hit in. She isn't aware that he's driving her closer to the ledge that's meant to keep them from falling into the sea until her knees hit it and she almost topples over backwards. The only thing that stops her is Daevyn's hand curling around the front of her shirt just in time to pull her to safety.

"Dead." Daevyn says once Ostara's gotten her feet under her.

"You would have been dead earlier." Ostara retorts as she flexes her hand to fight off the cramp forming there.

Across from her Daevyn shrugs, "Perhaps. What did you do wrong?"

"I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

"Yes." Daevyn reaches out to place his hand on the top of her head, looking deep into her eyes as he says, "You are a good fighter, Ostara, but do not allow your opponents to trick you into thinking them less skilled then you."

"Is that what you were doing? Stumbling around and acting foolishly to distract me?"

"Something like that." The man pulls away with a mischievous grin. "You did well today, Ostara."

Ostara thanks him with a bright eyed smile and the two gather their things before making their way back into the Red Keep.

~X~

Under the rule of Aerys II Targaryen the Small Council consists of seven men. None of whom Ostara knows well enough to judge based on true character, at this point she is left with little choice but to gain allies in high places and some of the highest are in the Small Council. The more support she has from the people in power within the Keep the more likely it is that Ostara will be able to get what she wants.

But who to go to?

Not Pycelle, the man holds power - this is true- but he is not a trustworthy man and Ostara suspects that his loyalties have already been bought. He is also, Ostara has heard, a lecher; touching young Ladies inappropriately when they come seeking his aid. Ostara will not lower herself so low just to gain him as a tentative ally... While she will have to speak with him on occasion she does not need him to support her.

So where does that leave her?

Qarlton Chelsted, the current Master of Coin, might be a good man to covet considering his job. Ostara may be able to speak with him privately about the state of the treasury... She's heard no rumors that the crown is borrowing more money then it can pay back but she's aware that coin is not always the easiest to acquire and that at some point more coin will be needed.

The Master of Laws, Symond Staunton, is also someone Ostara wishes to curry favor with. Some of the laws in Westeros are barbaric and, undoubtedly, patriarchal in their nature. They are not laws that favor women or children and that is something Ostara wishes to change. Soon. Very soon if she can help it. While she has no idea of whether or not Symond Staunton is a sexist bastard himself she feels that convincing him that certain laws need to be changed could be rather easy.

And who else could she talk to? Lucerys Velaryon? He is the Master of Ships and while a man loyal to the Targaryens Ostara has stayed far away from the Velaryons for no other reason then to avoid the fact that the Velaryons and Renaehra are distantly related through a woman of Renaehra's family who married a man who became a forgotten ancestor of Lucerys. Or something. The memories of Renaehra's education are vague and much of the oral histories lost.

Ostara doubts the Velaryon family would even know who Renaehra was... But Ostara has yet to decide whether she wishes to foster a friendship with Lyra, Lord Velaryon's third child who is of a similar age to Ostara.

Sighing, Ostara glances down the corridor just in time to see Rhaegar stride past. He hadn't noticed her, his eyes focused on the parchment in his hands, but Ostara realizes almost violently that if she wants to get anything done in this cesspit of a city she's going to have to get the approval of two of the most important people in it. Fortunately for her, she's known Rhaegar longer then she's known Aerys and has very little hesitation over speaking to him.

So she doesn't hesitate to gather her skirts and rush down the corridor after him.

"Rhaegar?" She calls softly when she's close enough to drop her skirts and briskly make her way toward his suddenly still dorm. "Do you have a moment to speak with an old friend?"

The prince in question looks up from his parchment, solemn face and kind eyes softening as he smiles. He offers a polite bow of the head as he rolls up his parchment and clasps it behind his back.

"Of course, would you like to walk with me?" He asks, offering his arm like a proper gentleman.

Ostara takes it with a pristine smile.

"I'll admit this isn't a social visit." She says after a short moment.

"I did not assume it was. You very rarely seek me out Ostara." Rhaegar responds though there is no unkindness in his tone that Ostara can detect.

"Yes, well, I apologize for that... I've never considered myself the type of person to neglect my friends." She's being truthful, something she's finding isn't common here in King's Landing.

There are only so many people you can trust in a place like this, after all.

To a certain degree Rhaegar just so happens to be one of them.

"It's of little consequence." Rhaegar says before smiling. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"I have become a patron of the orphanage in Flea Bottom. I wish to educate the children there but in order to do so I require the support of the royal family." Ostara says as she allows Rhaegar to guide her about.

Beside her, Rhaegar nods slowly before asking, "Do you think it will be beneficial to the people?"

"Do you think I would put so much effort into something I didn't think was going to work, Rhaegar?"

"Have you spoken to Tywin?" Rhaegar asks.

"No, the people hold no true ill will for Lord Lannister but we both know that it's you they prefer. I came to you because I am just as aware of this as the rest of your family."

"Bold words, Lady Ostara." Rheagar remarks quietly.

"Are they? I've heard nothing about you from the common folk but good things. They adore you, a good thing considering you'll be their King one day." Ostara replies with a scoff.

Rhaegar pauses for a moment, wide purple eyes slowly dragging over her features. He smiles kindly at her before carefully pulling away to fold both hands behind his back. Ostara allows the retreat. They both know that her words are the truth. Rhaegar is most beloved by the people, common folk and noble alike, and he has done nothing to gain him ill favor from anyone. Or so Ostara's heard. She can't say that her friend is loved by everyone in the world, but perhaps the majority.

"You're a rather ambitious woman, aren't you, Lady Ostara?" He chuckles.

"I want to change lives, Rhaegar." Ostara smiles ruefully as she says, "One can't do that without being a little bit ambitious."

Ambitious? Ostara's never actually thought about it but she doesn't deny the fact that it's true. She is an ambitious woman; with dreams and ideas and plans to make Westeros a powerhouse similar to that of Valyria... Just without the slaves, the sexism, and the downright detrimental practice of incestuous marriages. Eventually Ostara's going to be known as a woman who helped revolutionize an entire continent.

This is only a step in the right direction.

"As your friend I shall support you, Ostara, if this is truly something you wish to do." Rhaegar finally says which manages to startle Ostara out of her thoughts.

"And what would you like in return?" She asks of the silver haired prince.

He shakes his head, silver-gold hair shining healthily in the sunlight falling in through the window beside them.

"Nothing," he promises. "I want nothing from you."

"I see." She doesn't. "Thank you."

"Of course... Now, I'd best be off." Rhaegar places a chaste kiss on the hand he gathers into his own, "Have a lovely day, Ostara."

"And you as well, Rhaegar."

She watches as the man strides off down the corridor and frowns once he's out of sight.

While she doubts Rhaegar has any malicious intent there are no favors done in King's Landing without the expectation of it being repaid in full. Ostara isn't afraid of Rhaegar, she knows him too well for that, knows herself too well for all that, but she is aware that you don't get something for nothing in this place and eventually Ostara will be asked to return Rhaegar's favor with one of her own.

It's just a matter of when.

Sighing heavily through her nose, Ostara pivots on her heel and begins making her way toward the gardens where she will find a quiet place to sit and think over the events of the day. As she walks Rubeus rubs up against her side, nearly shoving her off of her feet. She offers the shadowcat a bright smile and a gentle pat before gathering her skirts and continuing on her way.


	29. Dragon Dreams

Rhaegar finds her the next morning in the gardens where she and the rest of his mother's Ladies have been breaking their fast and discussing the happenings of court with their silver queen.

Ostara doesn't notice him at first as her back is turned in his direction and her attention on little Viserys, who toddles about the table under his mother's watchful eye - ever the curious child, his brother. All of the Ladies smile and compliment him, they say he's a sweet boy and so well behaved considering he's only a few months shy of his second name's day. Ostara watches him, reaching out occasionally to steady him whenever he over corrects his balance and tries to send himself to the floor.

"Rhaegar, my boy, come and sit!" Rhaella commands the moment she notices him, startling Ostara slightly.

The young Lady glances away from Viserys, around the table, and in the direction every other Lady is looking in.

Rhaegar smiles as he moves to press a chaste kiss to his mother's slender hand. He looks rather charming today; hair braided back out of his face in a single plait that hangs down his back, clothes a subtle dusty purple that manages to not wash out his already pale coloring, and smiling kindly enough that it softens the normally somber cast of his face.

 _One for the warrior destined to bring the dawn, one for the dragonborn who lives not as a pawn. One for the man doomed to die, one for the beauty destined to fly. The rest for the children born in the peace, after the darkness Azor Ahai beats._

Ostara swallows thickly and shakes the remnants of last night's nightmares from her mind. She's going to have to find the Three-eyed Crow soon lest the rest of her nights be plagued with prophetic words and corpses.

"I'm afraid I must decline. I'm here to speak with the Lady Ostara." Rhaegar says to his mother, lavender eyes drifting to where Ostara is sitting.

There's a collective drooping of shoulders from the Ladies around her, nothing too noticeable but there all the same. Ostara wonders if these women are truly so desperate for a crown - or perhaps Rhaegar's attention- that they would react so poorly to not receiving it or if they're merely playing a roll for the eyes watching them from the shadows.

Ostara turns to the Queen.

"You're dismissed Lady Ostara." Rhaella says to her, smiling softly in a way Ostara only ever sees from her when Rhaegar or Viserys are around.

Rising from her chair Ostara nudges Rubeus' paw with her foot before moving to where Rhaegar is standing. He smiles politely while offering his arm to Ostara which she takes with a subtle roll of the eyes. Rhaegar must see it despite Ostara's best efforts because his lip quirks up in a soft little grin before he begins guiding her away from the group of Ladies and his mother.

It's silent for several long moments before Rhaegar pulls them both to a stop, pulls a rolled piece of parchment from his thin air, and presents it to her with a flourish.

Ostara stares at it for a long moment before leveling Rhaegar with a look.

"What is this?" Ostara demands perhaps a bit too harshly.

Rhaegar doesn't seem all that bothered by her tone though, he seems almost giddy for her to be asking these questions. It might have been enough to make her suspicious if it were anyone else she were talking to, but she knows Rhaegar well enough she supposes.

"I've been thinking about what you said the other day and I contacted the the Citadel asking for a Maester to be sent to King's landing."

"What did they say? Are they sending a Maester?" Ostara wonders, fingers stroking over the wax seal that has yet to be broken.

"Perhaps. Best to open it and see."

Grinning foolishly Ostara breaks the seal and quickly unrolls the parchment to look over the contents of the letter.

Heart nearly fluttering in her chest Ostara reads and re-reads the statement that the Citadel will be sending a Maester to King's Landing - Flea Bottom specifically - to stay at the orphanage and tend those living there. Before turning to Rhaegar she reads the letter one last time, just to be sure. When she finally chances a glance at Rhaegar she finds him regarding her fondly, like her happiness is the best thing he's ever had the pleasure of witnessing. Without thought Ostara slings her arms around Rhaegar's neck and hugs him fiercely.

She's an affectionate creature; more then willing to display her love of family and friends with little gifts, hugs, and chaste kisses. This is nothing new to her, but judging by Rhaegar's sudden stiffness it's new to him.

Pulling away Ostara doesn't even acknowledge the hug with even a smidgen of embarrassment and instead turns her attention to the parchment in her hands.

"How did you manage this?"

"I am a prince, Ostara."

"You're telling me that you commanded the Citadel to send you a Maester?"

"No," Rhaegar shakes his head, "I've enough respect for the Citadel that I'd not do a thing so low as that... I merely asked the Citadel to send a Maester."

Ostara doesn't necessarily believe that but it's not an impossibility that the Maesters at the Citadel would be more willing to listen to Rhaegar as he is. It's sexist as hell and Ostara's vaguely insulted but mostly she's just glad to have someone with a medical education and an ability to teach the children. Hopefully they send someone kind to take care of the children when she cannot.

"I owe you one, I suppose." Ostara remarks offhandedly, still focused on the letter in her hands.

"You owe me nothing, Ostara."

"No one does something for nothing, Rhaegar. Not here."

She glances at him and finds him frowning at her.

"You call us friends, Ostara, is this not what friends do for one another?"

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that your father wants up to marry, would it?" Ostara asks dryly.

Rhaegar bows his head, hands moving to clasp one another behind his back.

"No, but I suppose you wish to discuss it then?"

The sudden tension in her familiar's body makes Ostara's eyes narrow slightly before she smooths her features into something softer.

"Yes. I enjoy you're company, Rhaegar, you are my friend and I treasure that but I do not intend to marry you based on the wishes of others." Ostara says as she tucks the freshly rolled parchment into the hidden pocket of her skirt.

"I would not expect you to." Rhaegar says with a bow of his his head causing the silver hair fluttering down his back to shift and catch in the light.

It looks incredibly soft. Ostara thinks she could run her fingers through it and never catch on a knot, unlike her hair, which tangles and frizzes with the intensity of her magic. It's only gotten worse as she's matured, but fortunately enough there is still a definable curl as opposed to a wild mass of tangle.

"I'm glad." Ostara glances off to the side. "Would you like to accompany me on a walk of the gardens?"

"I would be most honored." Rhaegar says before extending one of his arms for Ostara to take.

With a soft sigh of irritation, mostly directed at herself, Ostara takes the offered arm and allows the Prince to begin leading her through the garden. Neither of them really talk of anything important and it's fine, it's comfortable. More comfortable then Ostara expected it to be, really. She likes how calm Rhaegar is, how relaxed he is even after such an abrupt turn of events... It's good considering someone may very well be following them.

Ostara bites her lip to keep from frowning at the thought. If someone is following them through the gardens then it's best to keep any serious conversation to a minimum. Using magic right now would be too suspicious but Ostara isn't opposed to it should the need arise. If anything, it will offer an opportunity to speak with Rhaegar privately.

Absently, Ostara flexes the fingers of her left hand, a phantom pain shooting up and down her arm as Rhaegar guides her further into the gardens.

~X~

"Rubeus, to me." Her voice is sharp, similar to a whip snapping through the air when her beast gets to close to one of the courtesans wandering through the gardens.

The woman's eyes are wide and her hand trembles when she notices the curled lip of the shadowcat. Rhaegar thinks it odd as the beast had never shown any signs of aggression while in his presence, but then, it is not in a shadowcat's nature to be complacent and docile. Just as it is not in a dragon's nature to be content with chains and cages. The pommel of his sword in oddly cold against his skin and Rhaegar dreads the idea of using it on the girl's pet.

Thankfully, the shadowcat is more mindful of his mistress than Rhaegar had thought for when she barks at him the great hulking mass of silver and black fur growls once more at the terrified courtier before loping back to stand between his mistress and the other woman.

"Thank you, er... Yes, thank you, My Lady."

"Leave."

Green skirts swirl as the woman curtsies before rushing off down the path. Rhaegar watches her go, watches the gold embroidery in her skirts shimmer as she runs from them. Once she's out of sight Rhaegar turns his attention back to narrowed eyed comapnion, who is no longer watching the girl and is instead absently scratching her pet's head.

"She'd been following us for some time now." She offers, already stepping away from her beast to begin making her way down the path.

"How do you know this?"

This time she looks at him, eyes just as dark and lively as the last time he'd seen her, Rhaegar thinks she might be vaguely disappointed in him. He doesn't understand why _that_ bothers him so much but it does. More then her beast nearly attacking an innocent woman, or perhaps not so innocent considering she's a courtesan of the Red Keep.

"Rubeus started acting oddly just after we'd left." Ostara remarks rather blandly causing Rhaegar to glance at the great beast.

His ears are no longer twitching, there's no more tension in his spine, he looks as he looked when Rhaegar saw him earlier. Why Rhaegar hadn't noticed it before is a mystery to him as he likes to think himself incredibly perceptive.

"That's quite the name," Rhaegar finds it's easier to talk about the shadowcat currently padding along ahead of them instead of her indifference. "Where did you come up with it?"

Ostara casts him a glance full of conflict before she says, "When I was young I found Rubeus and ever the impulsive child I took him home. After father said that I could keep him I might have asked for a collar of rubies."

"Might have?"

Her smile seems too practiced, painted across her face in such a way that it makes Rhaegar wonder if she's lying. But what reason would she have to lie about a name? Rhaegar chooses to ignore the little thought that crosses his mind for the briefest of seconds, instead giving the girl his full attention.

"As I said, I was an impulsive child and Robert certainly never discouraged such behavior. Of course, a collar full of rubies would have been incredibly impractical so my father told me no. I named him Rubues instead."

"You named him after rubies?"

This time she pauses before replying with a soft, but fairly distant, "Yes, what else would I have named him for?"

"It's just as good a name as any." Rhaegar remarks pleasantly, placating, soothing.

Her responding smile is a soft thing that eases the tension in her face a bit.

"Robert teased me for it quite often when we were younger. He always said that it was a foolish name to give a shadowcat."

"And what would Robert have had you call it?"

"Something silly I'm sure," the girl says impishly. "It couldn't have been much worse then Thunderclap, which was the name he bestowed upon his gyrfalcon, but it wouldn't have been better either."

There is a fondness in her tone that makes Rhaegar ache. He'd never had siblings in his youth, older or younger or the same age as him, and so he'd grown into adulthood without the arguments, taunts, and rivalry common among siblings... But he'd never had the fondness nor the joyful memories nor the inseparable bond that some siblings are wont to have either.

Viserys is a babe yet and he will forever be too young for Rhaegar to play with the way he might have had Rhaegar been closer in age to his little brother. So while there may be fond memories shared between them it will not be the same.

He's glad, at least, that Ostara has been able to do such with her siblings. To play, to jest, to pester. All things Rhaegar had done but never with someone of his own blood. Which is, perhaps, for the best. The idea of marrying a sister had never quite appealed to Rhaegar the way it appealed to his father and his father before him and fighting with a brother for the throne is even less appealing then marrying a sister.

"And Stannis? What were his thoughts on the matter?" Rhaegar finds himself asking.

"Stannis? Well, he didn't have much to say on the matter truthfully... He was very supportive of my keeping Rubeus, however."

"I see." Rhaegar isn't all that surprised.

Of all his cousin Steffon's children Stannis is the most stoic, the quietest, the one closest to Ostara. Rhaegar had seen it when they'd visited King's Landing as children, saw it whenever Ostara wrote to Rhaegar and mentioned Stannis, and again at Lannisport. Quiet and severe Stannis Baratheon may be but Rhaegar doubts he hadn't done anything to Robert for any perceived wrongdoing on the older boy's part. Not having anything to say on a matter never means there isn't something you can't do about it.

And as Ostara's twin the connection shared between her and Stannis is increased tenfold.

Rhaegar shakes the thoughts of siblings from his mind, not willing to find out where they might lead in regards to his future. He's had enough thoughts about his future to know that allowing himself to bother with them now would do nothing to help him in his effort to form a relationship with the girl that will hopefully be his bride if she ever feels compelled. He knows enough about women and girls to know that sputtering about demons and war and darkness does nothing to soothe them.

For all her fierceness Rhaegar suspects that even Ostara would shy away from such talk.

So he smiles charmingly at the curly haired Lady beside him, laughing when she makes jokes -she's surprisingly humorous and Rhaegar is relieved, for who would want to live their life with someone lacking humor - and guiding her when she admits to not knowing the gardens well enough to chose her own paths. It's quiet, peaceful, Rhaegar does not feel the weight of his duty quite so fiercely when he is speaking with Ostara.

A relief, especially when his duty tends to make itself all the more apparent the longer he remains in the Red Keep.

~X~

In his dreams, fickle things that they are, Rhaegar sees a land full of ice and snow where it's difficult to peer through the haze of a winter storm. When he turns to glance behind him there is a shadow in the distance. A building perhaps? Somewhere he can take shelter? Deciding that it is best to seek shelter then stay out in the open Rhaegar begins the difficult task of walking through the snow.

But in his dreams he does not walk.

He flies, and the higher he goes the easier it is to see. And so up, up, up he soars until he is gliding over dark, low hanging clouds and a world full of drab greys. It's thrilling, exhilarating, Rhaegar has only ever read of flying but if this is what it feels like he can understand why Rhaenys spent so much time on her dragon, so much time in the... A strong pulse of something hot and wild and just as primal as he is pulls his attention away from thoughts of his ancestors, his blood, his kin.

Without thought Rhaegar pulls his wings tight around him and allows himself to fall, a mighty roar leaving him as he plummets down, down, down at speeds that would have frightened him if he were anything but a dragon. As he falls he catches sight of a small figure standing in the snow, calling out without speaking but Rhaegar can still hear her. _Mother_. The thought is not his own but it is so fierce that Rhaegar will never question it, never doubt it.

 _Mother, you've called for me._

He can see the woman now, perhaps not as clearly through the haze as he might have liked, but he can see the wildness of her hair and the sharp, wicked curve of her mouth as she smiles. His wings snap out, catching him before his body smacks into the earth and carries his heavy body toward the woman who's begun walking toward him. Walking, then jogging, then sprinting through the snow.

 _Mother, command me._

Speaking, she's speaking but her mouth does not move. It's no matter, the-beast-that-isn't-Rhaegar understands her just fine. Heat pools somewhere in his chest before rising up, up, up to spew from his mouth in a twist of gold and red and brilliant orange. It's then that he realizes that the snow falling around him is not snow. It's ash, so much ash that it covers the land and falls from the sky and blocks out the sun.

The only light coming from his flame and the woman who has stepped through the fire toward him, only stopping when she's close enough to place one slender hand upon his jaw. But it is not the affection of the touch nor the calming words spilling from her lips that causes Rhaegar to freeze, but instead it is the eyes. Sharp and purple and shining fiercely in a face covered in ash and blood.

Rhaegar screams her name and the world turns to blackness.

~X~

 _Dragon dreams_ , Rhaegar thinks as he flips through one of his ancestor's journals, _I wish to learn more of dragon dreams._

It is known that dragon dreams have come to those touched with magic within Rhaegar's ancestry. Many of his kin were plagued with the dreams, sometimes good came from it as is the case with Daenys the Dreamer, and yet other times... Rhaegar does not want to think of those times.

He _cannot_ think of those times when the dragon dreams brought nothing but death and destruction to his house.

Rhaegar wants to pinch the bridge of his nose, or grind his teeth. He wants to do something other then sit in the library with Arthur's eyes on him and wonder why the fuck he's been dreaming about dragons and Ostara. This is not the first time he's dreamed of her either, now that he thinks about it Rhaegar can recall at least two other times he dreamed of her.

Once at Lannisport, he'd dreamed of white light and Ostara and... and... And Rhaegar thinks there might have been someone else too. Someone important for his mind screams at him to remember something he simply cannot. He hadn't remembered the dream at first, or perhaps if he did he merely brushed it off and forgot about it, but the longer he thinks the more he remembers.

There was a time, once when he was a little boy before Ostara was even a thought to her parents, that Rhaegar dreamed of a woman with soft hands brushing back his hair. He'd asked her when father would return, in a voice voice higher and lighter then his own, and the purple eyed woman with the swollen middle had merely smiled and told him to sleep. That everything would be alright in the morning. That she would never let anyone hurt him.

Rhaegar knows that the dreams can show the past or the future or perhaps even the present. The dreams show whatever must be seen and it is up to the dreamer to decide how to act.

So does that mean he'd dreamed of Ostara and her child? Their child? And if he had dreamed of them could it mean that the forgotten person in his other dream could have been their child as well?

So many questions, so many question and so few answers.

"Are you unwell, Your Highness?" Aruthur inquires, brows furrowed.

"No, Arthur, I'm quite alright," He promises as he closes the journal and sets it aside. "Do you have plans for this evening?"

The furrow disappears as Arthur smirks, "Feeling restless?"

"Something like that."

"Hm, well I'm to guard your mother this evening. Perhaps tomorrow?"

Rhaegar nods absently, fingers brushing over the supple leather of one of his ancestor's journals.

He'll be switching his guard duties with Ser Barristan or so Rhaegar assumes, either way Arthur will be guarding him tomorrow evening and that's all Rhaegar asks for. Sneaking out is easier with Arthur because the knight doesn't ask questions or report back to his father or warn Rhaegar against his trips to Flea Bottom where he blends in among the common folk. It's the only true way to escape his duties and the eyes of the servants, the only true way to find out what the people think of their rulers. Rhaegar has been sneaking out to Flea Bottom for years now. He knows which tunnels lead where and the guard rotations and who can be persuaded to keep their mouths shut and who will run off to whisper into his father's ear.

"May i ask you something, Arthur?" Rhaegar asks, voice low so that no one else can hear them.

"Of course."

"What is your personal opinion of Ostara Baratheon?"

Something passes over Arthur's face. Exasperation perhaps?

"Your Highness, I don't think it approp-"

"I'm asking for your personal opinion, Arthur... I'll not have you killed for it."

Arthur sighs, that pinched look he gets when he's annoyed briefly painting his features before he settles his face into something more neutral.

"I think that the Lady Ostara is too smart for her own good. It'll get her killed if she's not careful."

"How do you mean?"

"Well it's... Hard to explain... There's an air about her, I suppose, that makes me think she knows more then she's letting on." Arthur glances around before turning back to Rhaegar. "I also find myself wondering if she's hiding something... I could explain some of her behavior."

Rhaegar frowns, "Thank you, Arthur."

"May I speak freely, Your Highness?" Arthur asks.

"Of course you may, Arthur."

The knight licks his bottom lip, a nervous habit he's never quite been able to shake. "Perhaps you should inquire after her behaviors? It would save you the effort of plotting."

"I'm not _plotting_." Rhaegar retorts, vaguely affronted.

"Scheming then. Whatever you want to call it, Rhaegar, talking to Ostara is perhaps your best idea?"

Rhaegar offers a curt nod, angry with himself for being so predictable and annoyed with Arthur for being so close to him that the other knight knows what Rhaegar's plans are without having to be told. It's a bother to say the least but... Well, Arthur has never intentionally mislead Rhaegar. It might not mean much in a place like King's Landing but it means something to Rhaegar.

Or rather, it means enough that the plan to talk to Ostara is set aside for the moment as Rhaegar figures out another way to sort out his dreams and the Baratheon girl's place in them.

~X~

The tavern Arthur and he frequent is uncommonly quiet, the typical rowdy patrons sitting among themselves discussing topics in low tones that none save their small group can make out. Rhaegar is thankful their attention is on other things then him and Arthur tonight.

Running his thumb over the rough handle of his mug Rhaegar casts another glance around before turning to Arthur, who has yet to touch his own mug and hasn't taken his eyes off of the room since they sat down. Rhaegar understands. Arthur has always been a careful man, always true to his duties, and tonight is no different. Just because he's accompanied Rhaegar to the tavern does not mean he'll slouch in his duties as a protector.

Rhaegar takes a sip of watered down ale before turning his full attention to Arthur.

"I've been having dreams." He tells the other man.

Arthur raises a golden eyebrow at Rhaegar and says, "Many men dream."

"Yes, but I believe these dreams are the type to have plagued my kin in the past." Rhaegar whispers so that no one will hear him.

This admission makes Arthur frown and lean back in his seat.

"You're certain?"

"I wouldn't have mentioned it if I weren't. I've had three that I can recall, perhaps more, I'm uncertain."

"What is so special about these dreams? Perhaps they mean nothing."

"I've had dreams of dragons and children and each one has always had one commonality - Lady Ostara."

Tension causes the vein in Arthur's neck to jump as he shifts forward in his seat.

"Surely you jest!" Arthur hisses at him.

"No, I've had many dreams of her I believe. I only recall a few but I'm certain it was her."

"You don't think she's... What I mean to say is..." Arthur purses his lips, lost for words or perhaps unable to convey them the way he wishes he could.

Rhaegar nods.

"Yes, I believe that she is. Why else would the dreams come to me? Why else would I see her?" Rhaegar swallows heavily, a strange feeling that he can't identify swelling in the pit of his stomach. "The dragon must have three heads."

Ostara is his friend, even before she came to King's Landing and his father had begun pushing for a marriage she has been his friend. If she were only appearing in his visions due to that Rhaegar is sure things would have been shown to him differently but... One does not dream of children and dragons and a woman walking through fire simply because she is his friend.

Something about Ostara Baratheon makes her special. So incredibly special that Rhaegar aches with the realization of it.

Very suddenly a sharp want spreads through Rhaegar's chest.

He wants the things he saw in his dreams; dragons to come back to the world, a family to raise and protect, and a wife to love, to love him in return.

This is why he dreams of Ostara. It has to be why he dreams of Ostara. What else could it mean? Surely the Gods would no be so cruel as to give him visions of everything he's ever wanted in life only to have them ripped away from him? Rhaegar raises his mug to his lips and sips. Ostara is lovely and kind, Gods is she kind, Rhaegar's never met a more intelligent woman either.

He'd always known that one way or another his father would have them wedded and bedded. That one day she'd be his queen... While he'd never been opposed to the idea Rhaegar finds himself more excited for it then he probably should be. If he was going to help guide the realms into a time of peace and prosperity then he had wanted to do it with someone like Ostara.

Now? After the dreams and so many letters exchanged? After the time they've spent together?

Oh, how Rhaegar aches with the want of it, her, them.

Unfortunely, she seems less than pleased with the idea of marrying him. An odd thing - a woman not wanting to marry him, a woman not wanting to be a Queen... But perhaps that is not the reason she pulls away from the idea. Hadn't she said that she'd only marry him if she wished to? If that's the case Rhaegar has a chance, all he needs to do is show Ostara that a life with him could be good. Court her properly, gain her affection, and should things not actually work out between them then Rhaegar will know that he tried at the very least.

"You're not very good at sneaking, are you?" Ostara asks causing every muscle in Rhaegar's shoulders to tense.

Across from him Arthur sucks in a breath, turning his head to stare at the girl who's caught them pretending to be common in a tavern with less then stellar repute. Rhaegar follows, twisting around to stare at Ostara and finding his breath catching in his throat. Because she's wearing a pair of tight fitting breaches tucked into dark boots, a white tunic hidden beneath a heavy leather shirt that is held closed with brass buttons, and her hair is hidden beneath a plain scarf and she looks every inch the girl she is but her eyebrow is raised and her eyes are... Is she ashamed?

"Good evening, Lady Ostara." Arthur greets.

"Ser Dayne, perhaps the next time you two attempt to sneak out of the Keep you do so a bit more carefully? Your disguises wouldn't fool anyone who's ever seen you before tonight."

Oh yes, that _is_ disappointment.

Rhaegar feels a bit like a child being scolded for doing something naughty.

"Are you alone, Lady Ostara?" Rhaegar asks, hoping to shift the topic toward her and away from himself.

"Of course not, Rubeus is around." She says with an exasperated huff.

That is incredibly ominous and Rhaegar doesn't like the implications. Neither does Arthur if the tension in his jaw is anything to go by. But the shadowcat would not hurt anyone would he? Surely not... Not unless Ostara commanded it of him. So perhaps the real question is whether Ostara would call her beast to harm another or not. Rhaegar doubts she would.

But just because her pet wouldn't harm an innocent doesn't mean he makes for a good protector. No matter how fierce, a beast can be easily killed. Even the dragons were not immune to the masses of terrified commoners that fell upon them int he dragon pit.

"Well, I'd best be off then, if I linger I'll be caught." Then she's turning on her heel and walking toward the door, "I haven't you're immunity to reprimand after all."

"Perhaps Arthur should escort you back." Rhaegar suggests which earns him a snort from the girl.

She turns to look at them both, hands on her hips and mouth pressed into a line, looking every bit the authoritarian Barristan looks when he's irritated with the other guards.

"That's hardly necessary... I'm sure I can handle myself should things get hairy, not that they will, it's much easier for a girl to be sneaky when she's not being followed."

Then she's walking away, disappearing through the tavern door without so much as another word or look at them. It leaves Rhaegar feeling unstable, like he's done something incredibly unbecoming which, yes, in a way he has. Sneaking about isn't exactly something Princes are supposed to do and guards are certainly not supposed to encourage them which is what Arthur's doing... But for some reason he doesn't think Ostara's upset with him for sneaking out of the Keep.

And it's the uncertainty that has Rhaegar's head pounding by the time he and Arthur return from Flea Bottom early the next morning.

~X~

A hand comes into his view, holding a vial of something opaque.

Rhaegar glances away from his reading to find Ostara standing beside him at his usual table in the library with one eyebrow raised and a faint amusement coloring her features.

"I figured you might need it. For the headache." She explains, hand still outstretched.

And Rhaegar's head pounds as he takes the medicine from her. For surely that's what it is... Surely she'd gotten it from Pycelle. It looks different from the remedy he's used to taking but at this point Rhaegar's too nauseous to care.

"Thank you." He whispers, anything much louder would have caused too much noise for his senses at the moment.

He hadn't meant to drink nearly as much as he had last night, truly he hadn't. But one mug of ale had turned to two then three then four and then he and Arthur had slipped off to another tavern where they ordered more ale because it would have looked strange for two men to come in and _not_ drink.

"Of course, if you need anything else let me know. I'm more then willing to help a friend in need." Ostara's tone is laughing, much different from the tone she'd used the night before, and then she's walking away from him and Rhaegar doesn't think to stop her until she's gone.

But the vial is warm in his hand, the medicine sweet on his tongue. Rhaegar thinks that he doesn't like the thought of Pycelle being alone with Ostara. Not one bit. Not at all. Especially when Rhaegar knows of Pycelle's fondness for young Ladies with pretty smiles and sweet voices. His fingers curl and clench, clench, clench around the vial until the sound of glass beginning to crack forces him to relax his grip.

He'll deal with Pycelle once his head stops pounding


	30. The Bloodraven

Vanya hatches mere days after Ostara catches Rhaegar in the tavern. The little tarnished-silver egg shaking and trembling and eventually splitting into tiny little pieces as Vanya shoves her way through the thick, rough textured calcium. Ostara watches with barely concealed joy, eyes never straying to the large pile of gold and gems she'd hauled up from the treasury for Vanya earlier.

Even the other three dragons remain still, unusually quiet, as they watch their sister emerge from her egg.

 _Mother_ , she hears Vanya before the dragon has even shaken the last of the egg shell from her body, _I've come_.

Across the room Orlaith snarls, fire spilling from between razor sharp teeth.

Ostara doesn't even get a chance to chastise the teenaged dragon before Vanya is tossing her head back, throwing out her wings, and letting out a shrill cry that makes even Ostara's head spin. But while she's merely forced to shut her eyes and wince the other dragons in the room all drop their heads, bodies pulling into hunched postures, and only when Vanya stops shrieking do the others dart for the newly enlarged window.

They don't go far.

Each one finds the remains of a parapet or a tower to perch on and all of them remain there, eyes focused, as Vanya shuffles out of the pit and over to where Ostara and Rubeus are kneeling by the pit.

 _They'll learn, mother._

"What did you do?"

Vanya tips her head, metallic scales gleaming in the light. She almost looks as if she's lost deep in her thoughts with her narrowed eyes and relaxed posture.

Ostara takes a moment to truly study her.

The Unkrainian Ironbelly breed is a bipedal one, with rough scales harder then steel, long talons, and an immense wingspan. They're an impressive breed for that alone, but what Ostara truly remembers about the breed is their size. The male she and her boys had ridden all those years ago had been massive; and while underweight and unhealthy it had been one of the most terrifying things she'd ever seen... And that had just been a male.

Supposedly the females are bigger, stronger, and meaner than hell.

Their bodies built to protect not only their treasure troves but their nests and hatchlings as well.

 _I am the oldest, the strongest, they know this._

"You're not the oldest." Ostara remarks. "You've only just hatched."

A chirp of laughter nearly startles Ostara.

 _I was aware before they were, I spoke to you before they did, I bonded with you before they were able to._ Vanya moves closer, serpentine and threatening in a way Ostara would think was practiced if she didn't know better. _I am yours just as they are, but you? You, Ostara Baratheon, are mine. My mother, my rider, mine._

Ostara swallows.

"One for the warrior destined to bring the dawn, one for the dragonborn who lives not as a pawn. One for the man doomed to die, one for the beauty destined to fly. The rest for the children born in the peace, after the darkness Azor Ahai beats." Ostara finds herself muttering the words she's been dreaming of for days now.

 _Me, Melrin, Janus, Orlaith... And the rest, one day._

"I don't understand."

Vanya stares at her through eyes colored similarly to a cinnabar stone, or perhaps just the pure unquenchable flames or a forest fire. Ostara's never been good at waxing poetic. It's funny that she's trying to now.

 _You are our mother, ours, our loyalty is to you as is our devotion_ , Vanya slinks closer, _but you are not the only one who will ride us_.

Suddenly Vanya is in her lap, sharp little claws digging into Ostara's thighs and consequently drawing little pinpricks of blood. It hurts far less then Ostara would have thought... Probably because dragon talons are so very, very sharp.

It's a wonder none of them have accidentally shredded her skin.

"How do you know these things?"

Vanya stills but says nothing.

Instead she slowly scuttles off of Ostara's lap and over to the gold piled up in her corner where she picks through the gold and jewels, tossing some aside in favor of others. Ostara makes sure to take note of the jewels she doesn't like. Diamonds and garnets and perfectly cut emeralds. She prefers pearls, and opals, and uncut gems over the more polished ones.

Ostara watches her for a long moment before she rises and makes her way over to the window to check on the others. She smiles when she sees them slicing through the sky. Streaks of vibrant colors gleaming in the light of the moon that hangs over Valyria like a perfectly shined coin.

 _A man came to me once_ , _after you held me that first time_ , Ostara hears, _he told me things.._.

"And you believed him?"

Vanya peaks her head out of the golden pile to stare at Ostara.

 _Why would I not, mother?_

"You didn't know this man. He may have been a hallucination."

 _All dragons know the hooded one, mother, we do not fear him as mortal beings do_.

"Death spoke to you?"

 _He has spoken to all of us, mother_. Vanya disappears into the pile of gold and jewels but her voice is sharp and rings through the air like a scream.

Neither of them speak again after that.

Perhaps it's for the better, Ostara's head is reeling and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip as she turns her attention back to the three dragons shooting through the sky above the ruins of a great civilization brought so very, very low. Sighing quietly to herself Ostara makes her way out onto the landing pad she constructed for her dragons.

Soon they'll be too big to fit through the window but that doesn't mean they can't remain close to her while she works on her potions. Often times she'll return to Valyria and find her dragons curled up on the landing strip where the sun can warm them, lull them into sleep.

Ostara presses her lips together.

They're growing so quickly, developing an intelligence and even abilities Ostara never thought possible. How foolish she was, to think that her blood would not affect them, to think that the circumstances of their birth would not make them special.

With a low huff Ostara stretches out her hand and laughs as a scaled foot brushes her fingertips.

The resounding, delighted, absolutely elated choruses of ; _Mother come with us! Mother fly with us!_ almost has Ostara stepping over the ledge to play a suicidal version of trust exercises with her dragons. But she pulls back before the urge gets the best of her, much to her children's chagrin.

Ostara will fly, this she knows, but her dragons are still small and Ostara refuses to put them in any sort of danger of death or discomfort.

A series of bemused yips, chirps, and shrieks follow Ostara as she turns her back on the open skies and makes her way back into her potion's room where Rubeus is waiting for her.

~X~

"You've been busy." Melisandre says when Ostara returns to her chambers well before the sun has risen in the sky.

Ostara smells of burning herbs and experimentation gone wrong. She just wants to transfigure a properly sized bathtub and get herself a nice bath before anyone comes to rouse their supposedly sleeping mistress. Ostara's tempted to go ahead and do so anyway, even with Melisandre perched upon her bed like a satisfied cat, Ostara can't bring herself to care about the other woman's presence.

"I'm always busy."

"Yes, it is a great service you do... Though, perhaps not so great as what is to come."

"Is there something you'd like to say? If so please make it quick. I'd like to bathe."

Melisandre rises, her gown fluttering around her ankles as she walks over to where Ostara is standing.

Once she's close enough the older woman places a gentle hand on Ostara's cheek, soft thumb running over the prominent jut of her cheekbone. There's a reference there, a sort of worship that Ostara's mildly uncomfortably with. But no matter what she's said to the Red Woman, Melisandre always continues looking at Ostara like she's something unimaginably precious.

It's almost humbling in a way.

"I saw you in the flames, a bit older then you are now... You rode on a dragon the color of iron above an army of free men. In the flames you are Mhysa, Breaker of Chains, Dragon Mother, the Witch Queen." Melisandre stares at her for a long moment. "These are the titles bestowed upon Azor Ahai."

"I haven't done any of those things yet, Melisandre." Ostara remarks as she pulls away. "Have you found anything about the Three-Eyed Crow?"

Melisandre's smile is knowing as she says, "I have not been shown anything in the flames... Perhaps there is another way for you to find it."

"I don't know what you mean."

"You are Azor Ahai, with fire in your veins and magic at your fingertips. My magic is limited to what my Lord of Light wishes for me to accomplish but you? You are far more power than I could ever hope to be."

Ostara purses her lips before saying, "I don't know enough about him to attempt a locator spell and even if I did there's no way of telling whether or not it would work."

Across from her Melisandre bows her head, auburn hair tumbling around her shoulders.

"It was merely a suggestion. I shall continue to search for the Three-Eyed Crow, but I ask you to consider my words once you've rested and regained your strength." With that said Melisandre disappears from the room in a swirl of bright red and alabaster flesh.

Ostara stares at the space she'd been occupying, suddenly too tired to even think about baths.

Without so much as removing her shoes Ostara throws herself onto the bed and looses herself to sleep.

~X~

 _You're taking too long, little dragon_.

Ostara purses her lips, trying to ignore the voice of the Three-eyed Crow.

"How do you expect me to come to you? By dragon? By magic? I've no idea where you are." Ostara bites out.

 _You know exactly where I am, little dragon._

"Do I?"

 _Even if you did not, you would find me._

Ostara sighs and turns to face the being only to find herself staring at haunted red eyes, white-washed flesh similar in texture to that of old parchment crumpled one too many times, and a large wine red mark spreading across the side of his face. Familiarity flares in Ostara's chest and it takes but a moment for her to realize just who this man, being, creature is. And when she does the young witch swallows thickly before furrowing her brows at her ancestor.

"Everyone thought Brynden Rivers died." Ostara remarks rather blandly.

There's no questions about how he survived, how he's not all bone and no flesh, because there's a very reasonable explanation and that explanation is; Magic, an old and thriving magic that has somehow kept Brynden from completely dying. He's aged, this is obvious, but he has lived for a great many years... Well past that of a normal human.

Her ancestor smiles wickedly.

 _I was once called Brynden. No longer. Now I am called Three-Eyed Crow._

"How come you've come to me like this? In this form?"

This time the man's smile is a twisted, menacing thing.

 _Come to me and I'll tell you, little dragon._

And then Brynden disappears in a flurry of black feathers, leaving Ostara to watch after him as he turns into nothing but mist and shadows.

~X~

When she wakes the shadows in the room suggest she's slept through lunch and someone's changed her clothes. Probably Cerys. Or maybe Melisandre. Either way, Ostara's thankful that they took her shoes off and got her into a clean night dress.

Groaning, Ostara rolls out of bed and shuffles over to the wash basin where she wets a linen cloth and carefully runs it along her face and neck. While it's not a proper bath it's something. It removes the dirt residue and the ash dust from her skin and leaves it feeling less gritty if nothing else.

A gentle tapping at the door is the only warning she has before Cerys prances into the room, arms loaded with freshly washed laundry. The blonde smiles when she sees Ostara but doesn't stop making her way toward the wardrobe and chests where the clothes usually go.

"You're awake! I told the Queen you were feeling unwell."

"You went to the Queen?"

"Oh, yes, she was very kind."

Ostara didn't think Rhaella would be anything but. The woman's naturally sweet natured and even when she's speaking to servants there's never been an ounce of contempt or disgust in her tone so far as Ostara's heard.

"What did you tell her?"

"That you were feeling a bit unwell and they you required rest." Cerys levels her with a look. "You need to sleep more, Ostara, you look terrible."

"I'm fine."

"You're not."

Ostara shakes her head before moving to the desk where she takes a seat and pulls out her writing set.

"Will you eat at least?" Cerys asks.

"Later."

The quill in her hand is suddenly pulled from her fingers as Cerys gathers up her materials to set them to the side. Ostara watches her with a raised eyebrow and a slight scowl. She needs to plan. If she's going North then Ostara needs to plan, needs to settle all of her options. She can eat later, once she's done with her task. Apparently, Cerys doesn't agree.

The petite blonde shoots Ostara a fiery glare before she places both hands on her hips.

"I'll have food brought up to you and I expect you to eat every single morsel on your plate. Am I understood?" Cerys demands.

"Perfectly."

Ostara wants to tell the blonde that she's acting like her mother but doubts that will go over well with the blonde... If anything, it'll only make Cerys more adamant about making sure Ostara eats something. So it's best to just let the girl have her way.

"Good, I'll be back shortly."

With that Cerys pivots on her heel and stomps from the room, slamming the door behind her after she's stepped out into the corridor beyond Ostara's chambers. It takes a moment for Ostara to realize that she's truly angered her friend, or if not angered then worried her greatly.

 _I like her, mother._

Shrieking, Ostara whips around to stare at her wardrobe where two blazing eyes are piercing through the darkness and shadows.

"What are you doing here?" Ostara demands in a low hiss.

The little Ukrainian Ironbelly slinks out of the wardrobe before scuttling across the floor toward where Ostara's seated; little claws click, click, clicking across the stone.

 _I came to see my mother._

"You're going to get caught." Ostara hisses.

This is bad, so bad.

If anyone were to see Vanya they'd surely go to the King... Which would only cause more trouble then it's worth. And that's if they even go to the King at all. Chances are one of them might start screaming about monsters and try and lop Vanya's head off, which won't result in much more then Ostara beating someone to death for the attempt.

 _No, mother, I won't be seen by the unworthy_.

"Vanya."

The dragon says nothing, merely makes her way beneath Ostara's night dress and curls tight around her ankle. Pinching the bridge of her nose Ostara begins to wonder if this is going to be an issue later on down the road. Obviously, all of her dragons have imprinted upon her but this seems... Different. The only other dragon to brave the Red Keep had been Janus and he hadn't stuck around after Ostara sent him off, nor had he returned.

She attempts to coax Vanya off her ankle, when that doesn't work Ostara resorts to trying to pry her little body off. Again. It doesn't work.

Gritting her teeth Ostara resigns herself to a day full of worrying and hiding in her chambers.

~X~

In the months following Vanya's hatching Ostara turns fifteen.

She hadn't been planning anything for it, in fact, she's entirely forgot about it between getting the Maester settled in at the orphanage, tending to the common folk, spending time with her dragons, and juggling the day-to-day drama of King's Landing. If it hadn't been for Cerys and Daevyn gifting her with little trinkets the morning of her birthday Ostara wouldn't have even realized she'd forgotten about it.

Expecting the day to be full of back handed complements from other Ladies, well wishes from those of kinder nature, and maybe an awkward interaction with Rhaegar she'd been caught completely unaware when Aerys had, in front of the entire court, wished her a very happy name's day before ordering the servants to present her with a truly stunning piece of jewelry.

Ostara had stared at the diamonds, at the choker-like center piece, at the finely cut jewels practically dripping from the larger diamonds, and had been at a complete loss for words. Eventually she'd managed to choke out a thank you of some sorts before taking the gift. She'd tried to refuse it at first, obviously, but only once and the King had insisted that she take it.

After the court is dismisses and the King makes his way back to his personal chambers or perhaps to the Small Council chambers, Ostara is quick to find Rhaegar. The jewelry his father gave to him clutched tightly in her hand.

"May we have a private word?" Ostara asks when she manages to find Rhaegar.

He's with Barristan Selmy, the man looks vaguely unsettled.

"My prince, my lady." The knight says before stepping further off to guard the couple from prying eyes and spying ears.

Once he's gone Rhaegar grips her wrist, his fingers are calloused and Ostara finds that she rather likes the way he's holding her. Not too tightly, like she's some sort of possession to be managed, and not to soft, like a breakable glass thing in need of protecting. He treats her gently but with a firmness Ostara appreciates.

"Why did you father gift me this necklace?" Ostara demands, holding out the heavy wooden case the necklace is safe in.

Rhaegar looks as though he wishes to pull the box from her fingers and chuck it out the window to their left. Ostara honestly wouldn't mind if he did. Having this necklace seems wrong, wearing it would make her feel dirty, and she doesn't know what wearing this necklace will mean for her in the long run.

"It is your name's day."

"Yes, but that doesn't explain _this_."

Lavender eyes meet harsh plum and Ostara watches as Rhaegar deflates.

The fingers around her wrist drift to the swell of her cheek where a curl has escaped the poor confines of the jeweled hair net to bounce around her face. He doesn't attempt to tuck it behind her ear or to wrap it around his finger, in fact, he jerks away rather quickly when he actually touches her face. It's like he's afraid to touch her, like he's struggling with himself over something vaguely foolish.

Rhaegar's attractive, their parents want them to marry, the only thing getting in the way of that is Ostara's refusal to be forced into a marriage where she'll be expected to sit around and look pretty, pop out a few babies, and live miserably all in all. Ostara refuses to be anything less then an equal in any of her marriages, past or future, why would not be any different?

While she doesn't think Rhaegar would do that to her, make her give up parts of herself to fit his views of women, she's still not going to let anyone back her into a corner; his family or hers.

So instead of blushing or stuttering Ostara merely raises an eyebrow at Rhaegar's action and asks, "Is it because he wants us to marry?"

"You're very blunt, Lady Ostara."

"And you're dodging the question."

Silver hair gleams softly as Rhaegar bows his head, the light from outside casting him in a warm glow.

"I believe it may be a cause, yes."

"May be?"

The constant questions seem to make Rhaegar uncomfortable.

Sighing, Ostara closes her eyes for a moment and tries not to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Rhaegar, please, I'm your friend. Friends look after one another. If it's something to worry about I need to be aware." Ostara whispers as softly as she can without becoming inaudible.

Across from her Rhaegar level her with a look that says everything and nothing before nodding his head.

"I don't believe it's anything to be concerned over but... Perhaps only wear the necklace once?"

Nodding her understanding Ostara reaches out to take Rhaegar's hand in her own.

"Thank you, Rhaegar. I appreciate your honesty."

"Of course, Lady Ostara."

He places a chaste kiss on her knuckles before departing.

Ostara watches until he's rounded the corner before turning and making her way back to her own chambers to rid herself of the necklace.

Whether or not Rheagar knows it his answer put a fair bit of caution in Ostara. If the King is willing to throw such frivolous gifts at her what else might he do? And for what purpose? She doubts it's simply to garnish her favor. There are other, less expensive ways to do that. The King wants something more then just her favor and Ostara has a sinking suspicion she already knows what that may be.


	31. A Little Spider in a Very Big Web

Aerys isn't a fool.

He knows his subjects mock him behind closed doors, knows that they sing Rhaegar's praise even when they know they're being observed, his wife no longer supports him- but did she ever?- but she smiles prettily when required and frequents his bed when she must, his Lord Hand undermines his decisions, and even his cousin is growing hesitant to betroth his daughter to Rhaegar.

Surrounded on all sides by vipers and rats and lions Aerys finds himself unsure of who to trust.

There is rumor of an eunuch spy in Pentos, one of the very best with a vast network of underlings loyal to him and his coin. Aerys steeples his fingers in front of his chin and absently notes that his fingernails are growing long... But who can he trust to tend to his needs when all of those who had done so before are so foolishly loyal to Rhaegar and Tywin?

 _Spies_ , he thinks, _I need a Master of Whispers_.

And who better to bestow such a title upon then the Pentoshi eunuch? Pycelle has always been loyal to him, to the Targaryens, he will summon the eunuch to King's Landing and Aerys will gain his loyalty as well. No longer will the common folk laugh at him, no longer will his Hand grapple for power, no more will Rhaegar be able to try and steal the throne, no more, no more, no more.

Aerys smiles.

With the eunuch within the Red Keep no one will be foolish enough to speak out against him, the ones who do will be executed, as is the fate of those who speak treason against the crown. And when Aerys is more secure? When he is certain that not even his son, his heir, will attempt to overthrow him? Then Aerys will pull the Baratheon girl into the fold, secure her betrothal to Rhaegar and bind her loyalty to the Targaryen line. And maybe then they will get their Prince that was promised. Maybe then Aerys will be able to see dragons born once more into the world and the might of the Targaryen Dynasty reestablished for any of those who would try and deny its might.

His grandfather had been so against marrying brothers to sisters, afraid that the incest would dilute the blood, but who better to marry in then Ostara Baratheon? A Targaryen by blood but distant enough that it would have soothed his grandfather's worry. She is perfect; beautiful, of good breeding, and if rumors are to be believed well liked by the people. She is also born of Targaryen blood and seed. It is something that not even Tywin Lannister can boast about his daughter.

"Dragons do not soil themselves with servants." Aerys mutters to himself before reaching for the wine he'd poured himself earlier.

Oh, how Tywin would rage at being called nothing but a servant.

Aerys remembers the boy from his childhood and the young man he grew to be, the one always mocked and ridiculed for his father's arrogance and inability to rule. The toothless lion, that's what the people had called Tytos after his wife died and he became so poor a man that even the lowest of his servants openly mocked him. Aerys will not become Tytos, he will not allow anyone to compare them. He will not, he will not, he will not.

Because he is a Targaryen. He is fire and blood, wrath and ruin, he is the fire and brimstone that cleanses the world and brings it back anew. He is the blood of the dragon and no one, not even his sons or his wife, will mock him.

"Selmy!" Aerys roars, twisting away from the large window he's been staring out of so that he can stalk toward the door even as it slides open.

"Yes, your Majesty?"

"Get me Pycelle. Now!"

The knight bows low, showing the respect that Aerys so clearly deserves, and disappears from the room. Aerys paces as he waits, back and forth across the room for what feels like hours. Back and forth, back and forth, how is he going to get the eunuch? back and forth, back and forth, how is he going to gain the loyalty of the girl? Back and forth, back and forth, he is fire and blood and he will not cow to lesser beings.

A gentle tapping at the door brings Aerys up short but he remains with his back to the door as Selmy announces Pycelle before closing the door behind the Maester. Once Aerys is certain that Selmy has gone he turns to stare at Pycelle.

"Are you unwell, your Majesty? Does your back still ail you?"

Pycelle is a tired eyed man and unassuming in his appearance but his skills in politics and his ability to bend his vows to his needs has made him a most useful ally. Aerys trusts very few people within these walls but Pycelle has never lead him astray, nor has he given Aerys reason to distrust him. Of all the people in this damned city Pycelle is the only one Aerys can trust with this task.

"Come Pycelle, closer to the window, I do not wish for us to be overheard." Aerys commands before moving toward the window.

"Is there something I can assist you with, your Majesty?" Pycelle asks when they reach the window, tone low and quiet.

"Yes, yes, I have a very special task for you, one I cannot trust to another." Aerys casts a suspicious glance at the door before leaning closer to Pycelle. "There is an eunuch in Pentos, a man named Varys, I want you to bring him here to me."

"It will take time, your Majesty, but I will see it done."

"Do so and you will be rewarded."

It is no secret that Pycelle likes to indulge in pleasure of the flesh. Aerys himself used to dabble with whores and pretty women as well before the Gods grew angry with his actions and took his children, his daughters and sons, from him... Though, Aerys can't say how many of his children were lost due to the intervention of the Seven or his own wife's treachery.

"It will be done, your Majesty."

Aerys waves him off, not even bothering to watch as Pycelle gathers his robes and shuffles from the room.

Soon he will have his Master of Whispers, soon he will have the Baratheons bound so tightly to him that they wouldn't dare to think of opposing him, soon there will be dragons and a world bathed in fire.

~X~

Weeks pass before Varys arrives at court; a bald, round man with soft white hands and a scent of rosewater, lavender, and lilacs. He is more feminine then most men Aerys has met but how can he be blamed for that when he has no manhood? Aerys watches the eunuch as he makes his way across the room toward him, Pycelle trailing behind him with his hands tucked into his sleeves. No doubt to keep a discrete hold on the blade he keeps there.

When the eunuch stops he bows low but his eyes remain locked with the king.

They are sharp eyes, intelligent, and Aerys realizes that despite his feminine nature, his velvet robes, and his sickly sweet scent Varys is a man not to be trifled with. A dangerous man he is, but one put to better use under Aerys' thumb than in a cell.

"Your Majesty, I was humbled to have received your summons." Varys says, voice honey rich and full of flattery.

"You know why you're here."

"Why of course. I imagine it must be so tedious for a man as great as yourself to dance with the traitors and the lesser beings."

Aerys smirks. "Is that all you can do, spy? Flatter?"

"Among other things I assure you."

Leaning forward Aerys observes the man.

He is not plain, it will be easy for people to recognize him once they see him in a crowd and when they learn that he is on Aerys small council as the Master of Whispers the spy will only become more well known. Perhaps this is a good thing, at least the Lords and Ladies will be less likely to whisper about him when they realize that he is always watching them.

With a smile Aerys motions for Pycelle to fetch the small bag of coin he'd had set aside for the spy's arrival. The sooner he can get started the better in Aerys' opinion and in order for Varys to do anything he'll need to establish a network. While Aerys has no intention of paying him privately for his work Pycelle had suggested that perhaps they should until he is introduced to the court.

"I am placing my trust in you, spy," Aerys says to the spy. "I hope for your sake that the rumors of you talents are true."

The spy bows, skin gleaming in the sunlight.

"Your generosity is greatly appreciated and will not be put to waste."

Scoffing Aerys waves him off and Pycelle guides the spymaster from the room with an offer to show him to his quarters. They are nearly to the door when Aerys calls out to the spy.

"I should hope for your sake that you can tell the difference between friend and foe."

Pale eyes narrow slightly but the eunuch says nothing as he bows his head once more before disappearing from the room with Pycelle, leaving Aerys to sit and stew. Hopefully the eunuch works quickly to find traitors in the Red Keep, for Aerys is tired of looking over his shoulder whenever he leaves his chambers and furious at having to allow Tywin of all people to manage his throne.

How long will it be before Tywin attempts to take it? How long will it be before Rhaegar attempts to do the same? The people fear and respect Tywin but they love Rhaegar... And the people of Flea Bottom love the Baratheon girl... What will happen if Rhaegar convinces their cousin to side with him in a coup? The people will likely follow Rhaegar out of love for him but if he were to have Tywin and another they love back his claim?

Aerys' fingers curl around the armrest of his chair, knuckles going white with the force of his grip.

Would Tywin support Rhaegar's claim? It's likely. Rhaegar is not a stupid boy and he is well liked by the nobility. If Tywin saw an opportunity to gain power through his support of Rhaegar then he would without a doubt be the prince's most avid supporter. Especially as there's no way for him to gain any sort of access to the throne through marriage, not with Ostara here.

Dread fills Aerys chest at the thought of the purple eyed girl.

Girl.

A woman flowered, this is true, but a girl still a few years off of her majority. With it being no secret that Aerys wishes to betroth the last available Targaryen woman to Rhaegar the danger she is facing is very, very real. But is Tywin a danger to her? Aerys, Twin, and Steffon grew up together, fought together, and their friendship had always been a palpable thing in their youth. They are men now and Tywin has proven that loyalty is nothing to him.

And with his wife birthing him a daughter it isn't impossible that Tywin would attempt to kill Ostara in order to place Cersei in sight of the prince... Even with a betrothal being established between the lion's daughter and Steffon's heir anything is possible and Tywin has proven himself a conniving, vicious bastard.

There is still some comfort to be had at least.

Ostara has friends, protectors, an entourage of people loyal to her that would work to keep her from harm. While Aerys wishes there wasn't a Dornish bastard within his halls at least he is skilled with a blade and dedicated to Ostara, even the Red Woman that stalks the palace is terrifying in her own right. Aerys sucks in a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and lets it go. If nothing else Ostara will be safe from Tywin when they are near.

Should anything happen to her, however, Aerys will strike with the ferocity legendary of a dragon.

~X~

Varys learns much his first week in King's Landing, some from his own personal observations and some from the little birds he's managed to acquire with the coin he'd been provided with upon his arrival. When choosing his little birds Varys looks for those who are unassuming enough to be ignored but attractive enough for the nobility to find comfort in, some of his birds used to be mice and they followed him across the Narrow Sea to help him train his newfound spies.

They are his most trusted, the ones he can be sure will do their jobs without getting caught, and so he sends them to Flea Bottom to gather children and pretty young women into his web. What he learns from the common folk is shocking.

Rhaegar Targaryen is much loved, adored by the people of Flea Bottom and supported by them in measures that honestly shocks Varys as he's met the prince's father and found him quite lacking in anything that can be praised. Even the nobility love him, sing him praise whenever they get the chance to do so and even when it's not needed they comment on Rhaegar's skills, his intelligence, and his golden heart. But it is not so strange to have common folk love their princes. What is strange, however, is the absolute adoration the common folk have for one Ostara Baratheon.

Rumors, Varys has come to learn, hold grains of truth in them and from what he's heard of Lady Ostara from his little birds makes him wonder just how much truth there's to be had in these rumors.

Unfortunately, Varys simply doesn't have the time or resources to devote to truly watching any of the court members at the moment. Rhaegar and Ostara and the rest of the realm will have to wait for Varys attention until he can get his webs woven and his birds trained well enough to set them free upon the city and the kingdoms under Targaryen rule.

The only true concern Varys has is the Red Woman that prowls the Keep and whispers of Azor Ahai and R'hllor to any of the staff members that will listen. He recognizes her vaguely and he's come to learn her name is Melisandre and that she is devoted to Lady Ostara. It is this fact that makes Varys decide to keep a very close eye on the Baratheon girl, for servants of R'hllor are not so easily swayed to such levels of devotion to any other then their God of Flame and Shadow. And it is something more then simple devotion that the Red Priest has for Ostara Baratheon.

Sighing, Varys runs a hand over her head as he stares out over the capital.

There's no use fretting over it yet. Varys' only goal is to protect the realm, bring the people peace and comfort in equal measures, and until he has established his network there's nothing he can truly do aside from read letters sent between lords, listen to the whispers of the common folk, and explore the Red Keep in search of passages and hidden places he might be able to make use of later. Once everything is settled and he's able to trust his little birds to do as they're told he will send them out and assign certain birds to certain Lords and Ladies.

Varys wonders at the patience of the king, whether he will demand the names of traitors or allow Varys the time he needs without fuss. He doubts it. Aerys does not seem the type of man to be value patience over action, maybe one, but not now. Briefly, Varys wonders if the state of Aerys' mind will deteriorate further or if his paranoia is justifiable. Will bringing his traitors and conspiracies help him? Will it make him worse? Varys is no seer and he cannot say with any certainty that things will change for the better for Aerys. With any luck Varys interference will help the realm for the better and not leave it burning under the rule of a mad dragon.

~X~

"How funny it is, seeing a little spider playing the game of thrones." A honeyed voice says and Varys dismisses his newest bird before turning to face the red woman.

She is, without any shadow of a doubt, stunningly beautiful. Varys has never seen a woman so terrifying and so beautiful as Melisandre of Asshai with her long copper hair and burning russet eyes. She is the embodiment of unobtainable fantasy. It's why she's so very, very dangerous; she's nothing but a tiger disguised as a viper wearing a priestess's robes.

"Lady Melisandre," Varys greets with carefully concealed distrust, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Varys is a man distrustful of magic, especially the kind that requires blood and sacrifice, and it is not a secret that many of R'hllor's followers are blessed to some degree with it.

Across from him Melisandre smile's a gentle smile and glances around.

"I caught one of your little birds in my Lady's chambers earlier today, Lord Spider."

"And why would I send a little bird into your Lady's chambers? She is but a girl."

And he'll have to train his birds better.

"A girl you wish to keep an eye on." Melisandre flips the thick curtain of her hair over her shoulder, revealing a slender neck and the golden choker resting upon it. "I do not blame you, Lady Ostara is the most wonderful of Ladies, but might I give you a little bit of advice?"

"I always welcome advice."

Russet eyes flash with something dangerous, something that makes a past terror Varys hasn't felt since _that_ dreadful day flare in his stomach. It is a look that a hungry cat gives a trapped mouse just before the kill; playful and sadistic with a bit of pride. Varys resists the urge to shift away from the woman in favor of staring her dead in the eye to prove that he is not afraid and that she cannot cow him into being so.

It seems to amuse her, his defiance.

"While I shall continue to entertain you and your little birds I must insist that you leave my Lady alone. I will not have you exploiting her kindness and her gentle heart, not if you mean to cause her pain."

"I mean to cause no one pain."

"But you will cause pain, I have seen it in the flame and I tell you now that if you touch her the wrath of R'hllor will be upon you."

"What good would it do the realm to bring pain and suffering to a lone girl, my Lady?" Varys asks, fingers twitching under the cover of his sleeve.

Again. That falsely sanguine smile that makes Varys' skin crawl.

"None, my Lord, absolutely none."

"Then your Lady has no need to fear me."

"Of course not," Melisandre glances out the window to their left. "You are, after all, a servant of the realm."

"Yes, as are you."

"Perhaps. In our own ways."

Varys watches the woman for a long moment before offering a kind smile of his own, equally as false as hers. There is no use in trying to hide his distrust and his dislike for the Red Woman.

"Tell me what it is you wish to achieve, Lady Melisandre? Maybe I could be of assistance."

 _Tell me why it is you of all people are so determined to protect the purple eyed girl._

"I wish for a world full of peace, cleansed of the darkness and bathed in light."

"You work for the good of the realm as do I."

"Do you serve the realm, my Lord?"

"Gentle Lady how ever could you doubt that? I serve none but the realm."

"And King Aerys... Though, perhaps not, one day it will not be Aerys lining your pockets with gold. Remember that."

With nothing else to say the Red Woman curtsies, rises, pivots on her heel, and begins making her way down the long corridor back in the direction she came from. Varys watches her go, more determined to keep an eye on her and her Lady now then he had been before. Even so, Varys knows better then to send his little birds after Ostara Baratheon so soon after this particular confrontation with the Red Woman.

A girl of nearly sixteen is of no true importance when compared to the Lords vying for power and the Iron Throne.

One day Varys will unravel her secrets, determine why Melisandre of Asshai is so determined to protect the girl, and should her secrets benefit the realm then perhaps Varys will make himself an ally. It's too soon to tell and he knows better then to make plans with so little information but he makes a point later that evening to inform all of his little birds that should any whisper of Ostara Baratheon reach them then they are to come straight to him, just to be safe.

~X~

Melisandre smiles as she sends Cerys off into the swarm of birds, a seemingly unsuspecting you girl easily convinced to give information about Lady Ostara to those who promise friendship and comfort. It is part of the plan and the information Cerys lets slip will eventually lead Varys into an alliance with R'hllor's champion should everything go just so.

Cerys is, after all, a wonderful actress.

No one ever suspects her of lying, of feeding specific information and withholding anything that could be considered damning. She is perfect because the birds know not to come near Melisandre, or Daevyn, but Cerys is welcoming and kind and tends to take the younger children under her wing so that they can learn the ways of the Red Keep without the threat of a whipping or a scolding should they fail to do anything correctly.

With Lord Varys being so fearful of magic Melisandre must be careful. No information that comes from her would be trusted, but she accomplished her goal but bringing Varys' attention to Ostara and securing it there. Now it's Cerys' turn. She will be the one to feed Varys the information Melisandre wants him to have, the one to pull the loyalty of his birds to Lady Ostara, the one to make Varys love Ostara so fiercely that when he realizes she is not only Azor Ahai but a being of magic- and he will one day- there will be nothing to truly distrust.

Oh, he may mope about and act like a fool for a few days but Melisandre knows that men like Varys do not tend to linger with their personal dislikes when the ideology they cling to is threatened. And the Other will one day threaten the realm he so dearly loves.

Melisandre smiles as she guides Ostara's head to the side so that she can apply a bit of khol around the girl's eyes. She refuses to allow her Lady to look like the simple Noble women that saunter around the Red Keep with their ceruse covered faces and their copious amounts of rouge. Melisandre only applies a bit of coal to the eyes and olive oil to the lashes to bring attention to Ostara's eyes, to make them seen sharper and fiercer and more terrifying, not because she needs it but because Ostara is powerful but Melisandre wants the people of King's Landing to assume it, to not question it, to accept it as fact simply because there is something about Ostara that makes the prey in them shy away.

If she has to add a bit of makeup to specially chosen clothes then so be it.

"You spoke to Lord Varys." Ostara says even as Melisandre uses a fine brush to apply oil to her lashes.

"Yes, he will be a great ally to us one day."

"I don't like putting Cerys in harms way."

"She's perfectly safe, Varys would not cause her harm lest she were purposefully harming people."

"I find that difficult to believe."

The woman shrugs and says, "Varys is a man of specific beliefs. He is a man of the people and so long as Cerys is innocent she is safe from him."

"You're certain?"

"The night is dark and full of terror but Varys is not one of them."

"But he is dangerous."

A genuine bubble of laughter rises from Melisandre's throat.

" _You_ are dangerous Ostara," Meliandre says as she places the brush down. "Varys is merely a little spider in a very big web."

This gets a smile out of her Lady, a small one but a smile none-the-less. Melisandre takes it for what it is and turns to run a critical eye over Ostara's features; making sure that she looks every bit as intimidating and ethereal as a warrior queen ought to be before nodding and sending her off for another day attending court. When she goes Melisandre waits a moment before wondering over to the wardrobe and opening it the faintest bit.

A silvery figure slinks out of the shadows.

Ostara's dragon is growing fast, faster then Melisandre might have suspected, but it will not be Vanya that the dark haired girl will take North beyond the Wall. She is, however, the dragon that will gain Ostara the support of the nobility within the Red Keep.

"Hello little dragon, what do you say you and I go and give the nobles something to gossip about?"

The dragon tilts its head at her like a bird might and narrows burning red eyes before moving closer toward the hand Melisandre has extended. Staying still and silent Melisandre waits for the dragon to climb up her arm and disappear into the billowing sleeve of her robe before rising and making her way toward the door.

She loves her Lady Ostara, her Champion, her Azor Ahai, but she is fearful of something that is out of her control. It is not in a dragon's nature to fear fire, and so it should not be in hers to fear her magic. Why she does is a mystery to Melisandre and while Ostara may try to hide behind logic being afraid of the reactions of others cannot be the reason Ostara refuses to utilize a gift she was born with... And if she wishes to go North utilizing her magic is a must.

Ostara's door closes with a heavy thumb and Melisandre turns to make her way down the corridor.

Exposing her Lady will not be productive but forcing her hand? Forcing her to admit her magic because the masses already suspect? Melisandre thinks that may work. Especially, if word reaches a certain Silver Prince that Lady Ostara has dragons and magic and a prophecy to fulfill.


	32. It was a cat!

Cerys is loyal to Ostara not because the younger girl could very well kill her without so much as a single thought of hesitation, but because Ostara has always been kind to her and has built a relationship built on mutual trust and respect for one another. Cerys is loyal to Ostara because Ostara is loyal to her. So when Melisandre strides into the was room, where servants are tending to the clothing items of their Lords and Ladies, Cerys hardly finds herself to be all that surprised.

Melisandre is the most cunning of their Lady's circle. Always plotting, always planning, always thinking two or three steps ahead of everyone else. Cerys isn't fool enough to think that she means anything more to the Red Woman than any other servant girl might, but she does know that Ostara is her friend and therefore Melisandre will not be so cruel as to put her in harms way intentionally. That is the kind of loyalty Ostara inspires, after all.

The slip in her hands is quickly folded and placed carefully in the braided basket at Cerys' feet to join the rest of her and Ostara's clothing. It is easy to get away with washing your clothes with your Lady's when said Lady insists that your clothes be made just as well as her own. It is also a well known fact among the servants that Ostara goes to Flea Bottom at least once a week to visit with the small folk and see to their care. Cerys moves to tuck flyaway hair- curled from the heat and her sweat- under the white strip of linen she'd tied around her head that morning while she looks at Melisandre.

"My Lady, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Cerys asks.

Melisandre wouldn't visit her if there weren't some reason for it. Cerys is aware that she has been placed among the servants of the Red Keep to help inspire loyalty and devotion to Ostara, every evening she and Melisandre discuss the happenings of the day and how many of the servants are at least partially fond of their Lady, but Melisandre would never meet her here to speak of such things. Which means she's up to something, and she's using Cerys to achieve her own ends.

"Have you a moment, Cerys? I must speak to you of some... personal matters."

A slow nod.

"Of course, I just finished. Would it be possible to talk on the way to Lady Ostara's chambers?"

Cerys, for all her inexperience with the Game of Thrones, is not so clueless as to miss the way Melisandre's crimson robes shift around her ankles despite her being perfectly still, not does she miss the way Lynn's eyes go incredibly wide at something around the Red Woman's feet before she blinks hard and squints in confusion at the worn stone of the washroom floor. Definitely up to something. Cerys pretends not to notice anything amiss as she gathers her basket and bids the oldest servant in the room good day. It's unlikely they'll be seeing each other again until tomorrow. Once she's been dismissed Cerys allows Melisandre to slip her hand into the crook of Cerys' elbow so as to make it easier to establish their pace.

They leave the washroom with the eyes of several women following them.

"You wished to discuss something, Lady Melisandre?" Cerys keeps her voice low enough to give the appearance of trying to keep their conversation private.

"Yes," Melisandre casts a glance about before pulling Cerys into a deserted corridor off the one that is commonly used by the servants. "I wished to discuss the matter of Ostara's... interests."

"What of them?"

A quiet shuffling not far off has Melisandre smiling a bit. Cerys remains shrouded in false confusion.

"It has worked. She's done it." Melisandre says.

"Done it?" Cerys makes a show of frowning, of shifting her basket to her other hip, "How do you know?"

"I saw the little beast with my own eyes." Melisandre states, rocking her shoulders back proudly, like a mother discussing her child's achievements.

Cerys swallows hard. Dragons. Melisandre is speaking of Ostara's dragons. What is she playing at then? Does she want the servants to find out about them? It would make sense if her hope was to spark a rumor of returned magic and dragons born of Targaryen blood. Whispers travel faster among the servants and with something as terrifying and awe-inspiring as this the details may be embellished a bit but there would be no false accusations. Eventually, word would reach the Targaryens.

Is that Melisandre's intent? To force Rhaegar's hand?

None of Ostara's circle are over fond of Aerys. Daevyn claims that he'll end up mad, that the sickness in his blood will claim him as it claimed some of his ancestors. Personally, Cerys hasn't spent much time in the King's presence so she can't form much of an opinion on him but she does know that there's something about him that makes her skin crawl. Rhaegar however? She thinks that Rhaegar is a good man, obviously not a perfect man but a good one all the same. It is likely him that Melisandre is attempting to inform about newly born dragons. But the question is why? Cerys can't decide if it's to help Ostara and Rhaegar form a better bond or to cause a shift in the power dynamics of King's Landing.

Perhaps both.

"How many is that now? Three?" Cerys asks as she glances out the corner of her eye in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the servant listening to them.

For a moment she thinks it might be Lynn; sweet, mild mannered Lynn who has taken to Cerys' ramblings of Ostara's good nature with a reverence that makes the blonde vaguely uncomfortable. She often finds herself reminded that Ostara is rather odd for a noble, most of the lot don't care for servants and far fewer make friends of them. Ostara is, in a way, a fantasy brought to life, for what young girl living a servant's life doesn't wish to be friends with the young Ladies they serve?

"Four." Melisandre give her a smile that is really more a show of teeth than anything. "Can you believe it?"

"I can believe the amount of mending I'll have to do to ensure no one notices singe marks and rips." Cerys intones, voice airy and light.

With no way of knowing just how to handle this conversation, this small move in the Game, Cerys is doing her best; opting for light humor when appropriate and seriousness whenever else. It seems to please Melisandre for she reaches out to take Cerys' cheeks in her palms, smiling widely as she does. Cerys notes that she smells of burning apple wood and sweet smelling soaps, all things commonly afforded to the more prominent members of a Lord or Lady's house. Personally, she much prefers the bespelled blankets and the little trinkets Ostara gifts her with.

"I think she does a very good job teaching them. They're very well behaved... for a creature so dangerous." Melisandre breathes.

Cerys is beginning to wonder how much of this is an attempted at a political move and how much of it is Melisandre simply trying to air her devotion, fascination, and general awe of their Lady. If it's the latter Cerys thinks she'll be rather put out.

Ostara is awe-inspiring, Cerys already knows this.

"Have you discussed this with her then?" Cerys asks to which Melisandre chuckles.

"Oh, we've discussed many things, My Azor Ahai and I, but I was merely returning one of her tomes when I came across the newest birth... Would you like to meet it?"

There is an odd pounding in her head, a fluttering in her chest, and a twist in her stomach that makes Cerys want to tremble with excitement. Ostara has always promised to show her the dragons, to take her to Valyria where they stay, but due to her duties and Ostara's there's just never been a perfect time to follow Ostara through the wardrobe and she would never presume to go alone. Who knows what Ostara's dragons, her children in most senses of the word, would do to a stranger in their midst. Cerys knows that Ostara will keep her promise and take her to Valyria but... Melisandre has one of them with her, the youngest, and Cerys wishes to see it so badly that her bones ache.

"Is it safe?" Cerys manages to ask for the sake of Melisandre's plans.

Melisandre smirks at her as she leans down slightly to raise the hem of her skirt. It takes a moment for Cerys to process what she's seeing but soon enough she's lowering herself to the floor to make contact with the dragon curled around Melisandre's booted ankle.

"I tried hiding it in my sleeve but the talons were far too sharp for my flesh... I've no idea how Ostara manages it." Melisandre says but Cerys is only half listening.

Foolishly, the blonde reaches out a trembling hand to the dragon with what she hopes to be a reassuring smile. The dragon stares at her for a long moment, those large red eyes glaring into her soul long enough that Cerys begins to sweat out of fear. A dragon, no matter how young, is still a dangerous creature. As luck would have it Cerys doesn't end up getting her face burnt off her head. Instead, the dragon slides off of Melisandre's boot-covered leg, slinks across the floor, and climbs into Cerys' palm.

Melisandre is quick to pull away, quick to give the-servant-who-may-be-Lynn a clear view of the dragon in the blonde's grasp.

A started gasp, a muffled clap of flesh against flesh- like someone attempting to stifle their gasp with their hand, and neither Cerys nor Melisandre react to the noise. It would be best to control that which ends up circulating the Red Keep and they can only do that if the one spying on them continues to spy. Cerys rocks back to rest her rear on her heels.

"It's beautiful."

"Yes," Melisandre agrees, "but it is the youngest. Ostara and I have discussed taking the older ones to the sky."

Lies.

Ostara would have told her if she was thinking of taking any of her dragons flying. It's been a topic of pondering for several weeks now but Ostara hasn't decided on a good time to go about participating in her first flight with her dragons. But she says nothing of this to Melisandre as there are ears everywhere and Cerys doesn't want anything negative being said about Ostara or the rest of them. Hesitantly, Cerys rises to her feet and attempts to adjust her basket on her hip. How she hasn't dropped the damned thing is a mystery in and of itself.

"How is she hiding them?" Cerys wonders.

Is this even something she should be asking? Will it get Ostara into trouble? _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods_. Cerys is not a politician and the best she is at manipulating people is getting them to listen to her ramble about Ostara's goodness so that their interest is peaked and Cerys can tell more stories until the person she's talking too is more inclined to like Ostara than not. _Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods_. She's messed everything up? The servants can never know about Valyria because if they did then somehow Aerys would find out about Valyria and he would without a doubt send an entire fleet to his ancestral home in order to gather the dragons.

Feeling nauseous Cerys forces herself to focus on Melisandre, who is smiling so softly that it almost appears sweet.

"She is Azor Ahai, Maiden of Magic, and Mother of Dragons... The extent of her abilities in unknown to even me."

Cerys swallows hard and, with nothing to say to the lie, looks back at the dragon in her palm.

There is a quick rustle of fabric and then a steady thump of feet several moments later. Their spy has likely seen their opportunity to run off and begin reciting everything they've seen and heard to the other servants. Soon, the entire castle will be full to bursting with whispers of magic and dragons and Ostara Baratheon doing what not even a Targaryen of pure blooded decent could do.

"What have we done?" Cerys demands, voice soft as she moves to usher the dragon back to Melisandre. "Will they hurt her?"

Ostara, if anything were to happen to Ostara because of her...

"No, sweet girl, they will not hurt our Lady." Melisandre tips her head back and her hair shines like freshly polished copper int he dim light. "They are going to worship her."

For some reason Cerys doesn't think that's much better.

~X~

"I'm tellin' you, Tarik, I saw it!" Lynn cries as she chases after her older brother.

Tarik merely glares at her, unwilling to entertain a young girl when the head cook is watching them both so keenly, but Lynn doesn't care. She knows what she saw, knows what she heard. Ostara Baratheon is of dragon blood. The proof of it being in the small winged creature that Lynn had seen resting in Cerys' hand.

"Enough Lynn, go back to the wash room." Tarik demands, eyes flashing as he gathers a few sacks of potatoes to take to his station for peeling.

Her brother has never struck her, has never harmed her, but he keeps them both fed by working at the Red Keep. If they were to loose their positions Lynn knows that she'd likely be unable to find work anywhere but in a brothel while Tarik would likely enlist in the army just to ensure he gets coin for them both. Being thrown from the Red Keep is not something either of them want but this? This is too _important_ for Tarik not to listen.

"Tarik, yer not listenin'!" Lynn hisses as she follows her brother through the kitchen to his station, "There was a dragon! An actual livin' dragon!"

"A cat."

"It was not a fuckin' cat!"

Several of the servants around them have begun listening, their eyes still on their tasks but their attention of the bickering siblings. Lynn doesn't notice, or doesn't care, and continues rattling off everything she saw happen in that corridor.

"Well it wasn't a dragon." is her brother's terse reply.

"Yes it was! I heard that Red Woman call Ostara, um, um," Lynn taps her hands on a sack of potatoes, "some'in' foreign! Tarik! Believe me! I don't lie."

The older boy looks around, eyes wide and full of worry, before he grabs Lynn by the back of the dress to practically drag her out of the kitchen and into the corridor where it's a bit more private for them to talk. There are still people watching them though, because Tarik has never been so physical with Lynn before and it's likely caught more attention than Lynn's ramblings.

"Were are we going?" Lynn demands as she claws at her brother's arm.

"The wash room." He barks. "I'm not puttin' up with your stories today, Lynn."

Lynn.

Not Lynny-binny.

The young girl swallows hard, tears building in her eyes as she tries again, "Cerys was there too! She saw it! She held it! Apparently Ostara's hatched four!"

More people stop, more staring, and then whispers.

"It wasn't a dragon Lynn. It was a cat. You just misheard what they were saying."

"I was not!" Lynn screams, angry this time. "I saw with my own two eyes, Tarik! I can see better than you and I know what I saw! It was a dragon! Ostara Baratheon has dragons!"

She's making a scene and people are watching, older servants who understand the meaning and impact of Lynn's words more than Tarik is able to. As the older boy, a child still in the eyes of many, drags his sister back to the wash room the older servants turn to one another with wide eyes. They whisper among themselves, discuss the likelihood of such claims from Lynn and the impact those words would have on the Red Keep if they turned out to be true and none of the servants said anything about it. Of course, none of the Lords and Ladies tend to believe servants but there are ways of getting word where it needs to be.

It is a tricky thing; spreading word without being held accountable.

Lynn is young and her brother is not yet a man, while she could have misunderstood what she was hearing the older servants who have interacted with Ostara Baratheon in some way are likely to say that they noticed something strange about her. Dragons, the decide, are not the strangest thing they could have learned about the young Lady and so they take it for what it is and what it may be. It could be the imagination of a child or it could be the truth. If it is the latter... Well, it is their duty to make sure the people know.

And so the servants begin spreading the word in such a way that there is no way of knowing who told who about the dragons first.

Within several hours Lynn's story has been told to the undercooks, who tell the head cook, the cup bearer hears word of dragons before rushing off to do his job while a young maid makes her way to the laundry room where, Lynn is suspiciously absent, listening to the slightly older boy as he rushes to get out what he's heard before he takes a sharp left and disappears down a different corridor from the one she's taking. Once the younger girl has informed the laundress the chamberlains are told, who are quick to inform the servants of higher standing that they pass in the corridors before heading along. By breakfast the next morning whispers of dragons have reached the soldiers, who tell the knights, who tell members of the Kingsguard the next evening at dinner over a game of tiles. Soon after that Gerold Hightower makes an offhanded remark about the babbling of servants to Arthur Dayne.

And that is how Rhaegar Targaryen finds out about dragons.

~X~

There is a strange feeling in his chest as he listens to Arthur tell him the rumor that has quickly spread through the numbers serving the Red Keep. It's a fractured tale but from what Arthur understands a young servant overheard the Red Woman talking about dragons with another servant of the Red Keep earlier the day before. Supposedly, and Rhaegar finds it easy to believe, Melisandre of Asshai had been telling the other servant that Orstara Baratheon had hatched four dragons with fire and blood and has been hiding them from those living in Westeros with old magic.

Visenya Targaryen reborn it would seem.

Rhaegar finds his hand to be trembling when he raises it to run his fingers through his hair.

"There is no stopping the rumor, Rhaegar, now that it's been started." Arthur frets, his lavender eyes wide and worried.

"No, there's not."

"What would you have me do? If your father were to catch wind of this he'd..."

"What? hasten our marriage? Demand she bring the dragons to him? If the rumors hold any truth I doubt my father would get very far with threatening Ostara Baratheon."

Arthur frowns, "How do you figure?"

"When we were still corresponding quire frequently she one told me to be nice first, because you can always be cruel later, but once the cruelty has been done then those around you would see your kindness as a lie. So be nice, I remember her writing to me, be nice until it is time to stop being nice."

"And then?"

Rhaegar levels his friend with a look and recalls, "And then destroy them."

The kingsgaurd member flinches away as the words process in his brain. Rhaegar understands, he'd often thought Ostara to be a sweet girl, innocent and untouched by cruelty. When he'd received the letter and read her words Rhaegar had thought she was trying to offer him comfort through a sort of caustic humor and so he hadn't thought much about those words. Now he wishes he had. Would it have made the revelation of what she would one day be capable of doing easier to comprehend? Would it have prepared Rhaegar for the fact that his cousin, who is only half a Targaryen by blood, has done that which not even his purely Targaryen grandfather could not?

No, no it wouldn't have.

Because Rhaegar is a thrice damned fool and now he must pay for his inability to see that which was always right in front of him. He'd shaken off the feeling of being something akin to prey whenever he found himself in Ostara's presence, he misinterpreted the dragon dreams, misunderstood the prophecy he'd found tucked away in the forgotten recesses of the library.

He should have known; prophecies are made of words, and words are wind.

How foolish of him to assume that he of all people would be the Promised Princess. Of course, it had been easy to assume as the one who wrote the prophecy is long dead and with no one to help him interpret the meaning Rhaegar's mind had created it's own meanings. He is both to blame for and innocent of the chaos his misstep has likely caused.

"What are you going to do, Rhaegar?" Arthur asks after a long moment, pulling the prince from his thoughts.

"Honestly? I've no clue." Rhaegar rolls his neck and sighs, "I've severely underestimated Ostara, as we all have, and now I have likely fallen into whatever plans she's laid out for herself."

"Do you think she means to kill you?"

Rhaegar doubts that.

"No, I believe her intention is more to better the realm... What is it that the Red Woman, Melisandre is it?, is always calling her?"

"Pardon?"

"I've stumbled across the Red Woman calling Ostara something before, but it seems the name is lost to me at the moment. I feel it was something important." Rhaegar says, frowning at his inability to recall something as simple as a name.

"I'm unsure I know what it is you're talking about." Arthur shakes his head but seems unsurprising that the Red Priestess would call Ostara anything other than her name.

Rhaegar says nothing in favor of drumming his fingers against the carved oak of his chair. This is a situation that must be handled with delicacy. Before news of dragons and magic Rhaegar had known that he and Ostara would wed, had begun to want it for reasons beyond a throne and political gain, and now there is a very real chance that Rhaegar will have to fight for her hand, her attention, and her affection simply because his father or Lord Tywin or a number of other Lords would all wish to possess her should they believe the rumors. His father will, of course, for he has a taste for fire and legends of dragons.

But would Ostara respond favorably to him should he attempt to build a better relationship with her now? Truth of the matter is Rhaegar has no true experience with courting women and had - foolishly ,stupidly- fallen back on the fact that he and Ostara were simply going to be wed on the fact that she shares Targaryen blood. Now there is a very real chance that marrying Ostara might become an impossibility to him. The last thing he wants to do is alienate her, antagonize her, or make her think that he only wants her because of her dragons because while that has something to do with it that isn't why Rhaegar finds the thought of loosing her so appalling.

Ostara Baratheon, for all of her false faces, is kind and gentle and her head is very likely made of gold. Rhaeagr has never felt used in her presence and he has never thought that she was being kind to him simply for a throne. Ostara has always treated him like a human being where others have treated him as a prince-soon-to-be-king and Rhaegar _wants_ her in his life.

"Have you any was of finding the one who started the rumors?" Rhaeagar asks and for a long time Arthur is silent.

"There was a bit of a commotion earlier with a young girl and her brother that I heard of but there were no details... I assumed it was nothing." Arthur says, tone soft and low so that no one else might hear.

They both know why Varys has come to King's Landing, neither of them are foolish enough not to.

"Bring them both to me. It may be nothing but I'd like to be absolutely certain that these rumors are based in truth before I do anything that might make Ostara Baratheon an enemy of mine." Rhaegar pinches the bridge of his nose at the thought.

A woman who gives birth to four dragons and wields magic powerful enough to hide them is not a woman to be trifled with. To make an enemy of Ostara Baratheon in any way would mean terrible things to come... And Rhaegar wants her to be the very opposite of his enemy.

So he sends Arthur off with the task of bringing him the siblings so that he can discuss what happened with both of them before anyone else can. Should it be needed Rhaegar will send them off to work in Jon Connington's keep where he knows the Lord of Griffin's Roost will see the children safe if the need be. They are friends, after all, and Rhaegar has so very few of those of late. At least Arthur, he knows, is as loyal a friend as they come... Should all else fail Rhaegar could always see the children sent to Starfall where they would be treated well among the Dornish... Yes, that is what he will do. Send them to Dorne where they can be protected and cared for by those loyal to him.

Rhaegar drops his head to rest against the back of the chair.

 _Azor Ahai,_ that's what the Red Woman had called Ostara.


	33. A Discovery of Dragons

Orlaith shifts, the muscles in her neck and shoulders rolling beneath her scales as she stretches her wings out to either side of her. Ostara swallows hard as she adjusts her grip on the golden spikes jutting out from the dragon's neck. There aren't many as most of Orlaith's spikes can be seen framing her head and racing down the bridge of her snout, but there are a few smaller scales tracing the length of her spine that give Ostara something to grip on to. Being seated in the little dip between spikes where Orlaith's shoulders and neck meet isn't the best place to be in Ostara's opinion but as she can't put a saddle on Orlaith it's the safest.

 _Are you ready, mother?_

With her head twisted just so Orlaith can easily look Ostara in the eye and it's a humbling thing to see such excitement in a creature that is thought by most to enjoy nothing but death and destruction. Ostara nods hesitantly before glancing down past Orlaith's neck into the inky darkness below them. It had been a spur of the moment decision brought on by insomnia and sheer boredom, the feeling had driven Ostara to don her simplest clothes and sneak through the wardrobe in the dead of the night when the rest of King's Landing was quiet and still with sleep. Her children had been absolutely thrilled to see her and even more excited to hear that she wished to go flying. They've vied for the honor of taking her into the sky and as Orlaith is the biggest of the dragons it had been decided, much to Vanya's bitterness, that she would be the one to take Ostara on her first flight as her weight wouldn't bother Orlaith as badly as it might bother the others. Ostara hadn't allowed herself time to talk herself out of her decision despite her quickly growing anxiety and had marched out onto the large strip of magicked stone just outside her laboratory.

"Don't drop me." Ostara begs as she adjusts herself a bit more.

Orlaith tosses her head, amusement trickling through the bond they all share, and is quick to assure, _You will not fall_.

In the light offered by the moon above their head Orlaith is phantasmagorical. Her scales are still vibrant, still that ever-changing mix of gold and bronze and fire but now it's different, softer, less aggressive. She is the thing men fear and covet in equal measured; beautiful and terrible in the silver-white light that dapples through the clouds to dance across her body.

"And if I do?" Ostara asks, suddenly nervous and desperate for something, anything, that will stall the inevitable.

 _Then the Red Woman will come and she will draw you back... Perhaps in a different body, but you would still be Mother_.

Ostara narrows her eyes at the mention of Melisandre. She hasn't seen hide nor hair of the Priestess since the day before, even Cerys has avoided her, the only one of her inner circle Ostara has seen in length is Daevyn and as a general rule they rarely have in depth conversations when they're training. Ostara has no doubts in her mind that Melisandre is scheming, and using Cerys in her plots, but what her goals are or what she hopes to accomplish Ostara is unsure. It will not, she suspects, end well for _someone_.

"Let's not get Melisandre involved with my resurrection."

 _He_ would probably lose his mind if he found out Ostara died again and was brought back in another body without his consent. He seems petty enough to be offended by such a thing.

 _Then do not fall._

Before she's given a chance to respond Orlaith is shooting forward and then falling. A scream catches in Ostara's throat as they plummet toward the earth, her nails threaten to bend and break as she digs into the golden spike she'd been gripping since she'd mounted Orlaith, her eyes water as the wind tears past her face and for a moment she wishes she'd been smart enough to transfigure herself a set of goggles. There's no time to distract herself with thought as Orlaith throws out both of her wings, catches air, and levels out enough to slow her pace into a gentle glide.

Ostara's grip is still too tight but her heart is no longer beating a frantic stampede against her breastbone. It's difficult at first but as Orlaith glides through the ruins of Valyria and out over the sea Ostara manages to catch her breath enough to assemble a sort of calm she desperately needs.

 _You did not fall_ , she hears and the amusement is thick in Orlaith's tone.

The steady beat of wings behind them tells Ostara that the others have followed Orlaith out of Valyria, carefully keeping their distance but still remaining close enough to experience some sort of joy at seeing Ostara flying.

"We aren't done." Ostara mutters just before Orlaith flies closer to the water below them.

Moonlight gleams on the tops of gently rolling waves, silver beams of light that dance brokenly on the water and makes the scales of Orlaith's flank shimmer, Ostara sighs heavily as the tip of her boot skims the top of a wave as her dragon sinks her own massive feet into the inky waters. She wonders if there are any creatures lurking beneath the waves, surviving off what little magic remains in Valyria from a time when dragons roamed the skies freely and the Empire was at its peak. There are, she knows, more than just dragons and shadowcats and witches in this world, the proof of it lurks in the waters of the Sunset Sea and thrives in the harsh climates beyond the Wall- giants and Children of the Forest and some unknown foe she is to face. With so much evidence to show that there is something more thriving in the world where it can Ostara doubts there isn't something living in the ocean surrounding Valyria, because why would they not flock to the epicenter of magic when so much of it is bleeding out of the world? Why wouldn't they come to leech what little bits of comfort they can before their bodies fail them and their bones turn to dust? Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Ostara leans back to rest her body against one of the spikes running down Orlaith's spine so that she can tilt her head back and examine the stars shining brightly in the sky above her head. They do not seem to shine so prettily in King's Landing. Perhaps it is because they recognize the danger of being a beautiful thing in King's Landing where one's loyalty is always called into question and their ambition makes them as trustworthy as a rabid animal. Ostara thinks that had the Valyrian Empire not fallen when it had the people could have advanced in such a way that traveling to the stars might not have been impossible for them. Ostara could do that. Travel to the stars on dragonback with her magic keeping them alive. It would take some planning and a good deal of magical work to achieve but Ostara thinks she could do it if for no other reason than to say that she was able to. But there are other reasons that Ostara would like to travel beyond this planet, of course. She wants to know what other other worlds are there beyond this one. What other kinds of lifeforms are there beyond what this world is capable of sustaining? Surely there must be other places? Other things to see.

 _They would not deserve your love, Mother._

Startled, Ostara rips her gaze away from the stars and over to where Janus is gliding through the air beside Orlaith.

"What do you mean?"

 _They would tarnish it, step on it, use it only when it suited their purposes and then leave you with nothing_.

She doesn't bother to argue with them. Ostara's learned from the time she's spent with the dragons that they're perception of lover- warranted or otherwise- is a bit skewed. A human might love unconditionally, without judgement and in ways that are completely healthy, it is a softer sort of love in comparison to a dragon's. A dragon, who loves fiercely and singularly and with all of the ferocity of a wild thing. Sometimes- late at night when Ostara allows herself to feel what her dragons feel- it terrifies her to know just how deeply they love and it's even more startling to know that such love is for her. Ostara understands why they find the concept of human love laughable. This is a discussion they've been having for a time; that humans can love unconditionally and that just because the feeling of it is different from that which a dragon feels does not mean it's nothing. Ostara's learned that there are just some things you need to let slide. So instead of continuing to argue her point Ostara offers Janus a soft, somewhat sad smile.

While it's not terribly late Ostara knows that she'll soon have to consider returning to King's Landing before anyone notices her absence, but the thought of returning causes apprehension to build in her stomach. There's nothing to do in King's Landing and because of that Ostara's grown bored of the city. Her days are spent attending court, seeing to the Queen, playing politics with pissy Lords and Ladies, attending her lessons, attempting to find the time to go North- which she's going to do, soon, after the dragons get a bit older and can handle the distance required for travel- and helping educate the children of Flea Bottom whenever her time allows it. Unfortunately, the repetitiveness of her days have come to bore her enough that she's honestly afraid of losing her mind in that bloody Red Keep. Ostara bites into her lip as she contemplates a sudden thought.

No one would notice if Ostara feigned illness tomorrow morning. All she'd need to do is write some instructions down for Cerys or Melisandre telling them to say she's unwell and Ostara would have the morning to herself. She figures they wouldn't say anything about her absence because it would look very poorly on them as they would be the ones who would have lost their Lady. If anyone were to go to Aerys in regards to her disappearance there would be quite a bit of unrest in the City, among other things. Ostara isn't all that upset about putting the two on the spot as Cerys wouldn't say anything anyway and it wouldn't hurt for Melisandre to sweat a bit under the pressure... What harm would it do to stay in Valyria for a time? A short time, of course, Ostara isn't under any illusions that her absence wouldn't cause some sort of uproar among the court, but a morning perhaps? What harm could a morning do?

Technically, she wouldn't even need to tell Cerys or Melisandre. As they're usually the first to see her in the mornings it would be easy for them to assume she wants time to herself and has gone off on her own to see to her own comforts. Melisandre would probably be thrilled, Cerys would probably fret, and the two of them together would skillfully field any and all questions thrown their way should someone go looking for her. Ostara might not trust Melisandre as well as the Red Woman would like but she does know that the priestess has a discomforting amount of devotion aimed at her. It'll keep her from getting Ostara into any sort of trouble that could get her killed the second she returns to King's Landing.

A burst of laughter spills from her lips before smiles down at the top of Orlaith's head.

"Take me to the beach." She begs, because she wants to see the sunrise and then maybe she'll go exploring more keeps.

It's rumored there are ghosts haunting Valyria and while she hasn't seen a ghost yet- and considering the amount of time she's spent here the chance of actually seeing one should be pretty high- that isn't to say there aren't any.

Muscles bunch and pull beneath her thighs as Orlaith twists around and Ostara leans into the turn but keeps most of her weight on her sit bones in order to balance herself as Orlaith takes her back to Valyria, excitement and something heady thrumming across their shared bond. Ostara doesn't ignore the feeling but she doesn't acknowledge it either. Sometimes it's better to leave things be. If Orlaith is excited to return to the beach and whatever that implies for her than she can be excited without Ostara trying to rationalize it.

When they reach the beach Orlaith lowers herself to the sand a bit clumsily but she doesn't stumble and Ostara thinks their landings will improve the more they fly together. She climbs off the Chinese Fireball as the others land, Vanya's high pitched trill announces her presence just seconds before her scaled body curls around Ostara's ankle. Having not noticed the smallest dragon's presence until now the sudden collision causes Ostara to jump a bit out of her skin before she reaches down to pluck Vanya off before the dragon can damage her clothes.

"Hello, love." Ostara greets her cinnabar eyed dragon, who trilled delightedly before scuttling across her arm to settle herself over both of Ostara's shoulders.

Somewhere off behind them the others are settling down against the sand, the heat of their flames reaching Ostara as they're used to warm the patches of sand each dragon has chosen for themselves. Ostara turns to watch as each dragon settles near enough each other that their tails and wings brush but never quite overlap as they make up something of an obscure semicircle. It's no secret that the open space among them is meant for her, not when all of them are looking at her so expectantly. Ostara smiles as she makes her way over, settles down in the offered space, and leans back so that she's resting against Milren while simultaneously toeing off her boots so that she can sink her toes into the sand.

Purple eyes drift from each large dragon curled around her and to the line where the sky and the sea meet. The sky is still inky, still peppered with bright pinpricks of light, but Ostara knows that soon a pinkish-purple hue will begin to bleed into the sky and the sun will drive away all visual evidence of the stars, but that won't happen for a few hours yet and Ostara gladly settles in to wait.

She has no idea that in King's Landing her world is being flipped upside down and tied into knots.

~X~

Rhaegar paces, he spent all of the previous evening pacing and still he paces, back and forth across the stone of his bed chambers without even realizing he's doing it. Because _dragons_ , and Ostara Baratheon has hatched them, and his father is bound to find out, and while they may be betrothed that won't keep his father from doing something drastic in order to get those dragons. Rhaegar cannot stomach the idea of his father's interest in Ostara being anything but vaguely possessive. Maybe it's because she's innocent, maybe it's because no maiden deserves the attention of Aerys, or maybe it's because for all of his faults Rhaegar does genuinely care for Ostara and wishes to see her happy, whatever the case may be, Rhaegar cannot let his father possess Ostara. Which is why he send Arthur off in search of the children at first light.

Hopefully word of Ostara's dragons hasn't reached the King or the Eunuch yet. Rhaegar doesn't think that it has as no one has been called before the court but he knows better than to think that it won't. Those children need to be as far away from King's Landing as Rhaegar can get them before his father even hears so much as a whisper of the rumors swirling around the Keep. Dorne, he and Arhtur have decided, is perhaps the best place to send them. Arthur's household could make them a good home as Ashara is a kindly woman and would see them well taken care of, but should that not be an option any other house would do. Bastards in Dorne can make good livings, orphaned children too, all they would need is a safe journey and once those children make it to a Dornish household they should be safe.

"Rhaegar," Arthur's voice makes him go still and tense as he hadn't heard the man knock, "they're in the solar."

Turning sharply on his heel Rhaegar makes his way to his solar, the only private place in his set of chambers where the appearance of servants won't be questioned. It's also the only place he can think to bring two children without terrifying them anymore than they already are- a solar is impersonal and always relatively tasteful in terms of its decor which will offer a small amount of comfort if nothing else. Rhaegar's not even certain his solar is safe from prying ears but he doesn't think there are any hidden places where a spying servant might be able to overhear them. Gods, he hopes he's right about that because if he's not then these children could very well end up dead.

When he enters the solar, Arthur at his back, Rhaegar finds two children standing stiffly in the center of the room. The boy can hardly be older than eleven, maybe twelve, and he carries himself like a child who was forced to take on too much responsibility too soon; there are dark circles under glassy brown eyes, thin lips are chapped, cheeks are round but lack a certain rosy quality Rhaegar is so used to seeing in children, and his entire frame is to tight that Rhaegar thinks it should surely pain the boy. His sister, on the other hand, looks healthier but no less terrifying. She at least has the rosy cheeks and bright brown eyes and her mousy hair isn't a mop atop her head. She looks well cared for. A result of a brother's devotion.

Rhaegar understands that all too well.

"Is this because of the dragons?" The girl asks, her voice trembling.

She's no older than eight, nine perhaps. Too young to understand the severity of her words but old enough to know that they're important to him, to his house, to the whole of the world. Rhaegar doesn't miss the scathing look her brother sends her which tells the prince that where she lacks a certain understanding the boy does not. Still, he means these children no harm and so the foolishness of her statement is easily dismissed for the moment.

"Aye, it is." He tells her. "I'd like you to tell me all that you know."

"She knows nothing, your highness, Lynn saw a cat is all. Nothing more." The boy says sharply.

Beside him Lynn shuts her mouth and nods even as the muscle in her jaw jumps.

 _Smart boy_ , Rhaegar thinks, _to attempt to guide his sister out of these turbulent waters she has found herself in_.

But for the sake of his purple eyed Mother of Dragons Rhaegar cannot allow himself to falter.

"I was not speaking to you, boy," He says before turning to the girl. "For the sake of both your lives I need you to tell me what exactly it was that you saw."

Lynn glances between him and her brother, everything about her screaming uncertainty. Rhaegar knows she probably thinks he'll have her put to the sword if she lies to him as it's not an uncommon thing for young servants of the Red Keep to learn of punishable death when the heads of Targaryen enemies are mounted on pikes. To make her think he will do such a thing to her is cruel, he knows, but if it will get her to talk Rhaegar will not correct her assumption just yet. Soon though, he is not so cruel as to cause unnecessary fear.

"I saw the Red Woman and Cerys discussing the Lady Ostara in a hall. They were talking about her dragons and then-" Lynn swallows "- and then I saw it."

Rhaegar goes still.

"You saw it?"

"The dragon. The Red Woman said that Lady Ostara is hiding them with her magic and that she's gone to the sky with them."

"Them? There are more than one?"

Rhaegar had not been expecting this. He'd been expecting one and had assumed that the rumors would be a bit exaggerated. While he'd hoped there'd be more than one for his own personal reasons Rhaegar had not been so foolish as to believe there would be more than one dragon now roaming the world. His heart beats wildly in his chest and for a moment Rhaegar wonders if his breath will become painful as sometimes it is wont to do. Across from him, Lynn nods hesitantly even as her brother seems to deflate.

"Lady Ostara has four... the smallest was the one I saw. I think it was the youngest."

Four.

Four dragons. Ostara has managed to hatch four dragons.

"And you said she was keeping them secret how?" He demands, because it should be impossible to hide four dragons no matter how small they are.

"I don't know. The Red Woman said, well, she called her Maiden of Magic," hopefully the girl adds, "like Visenya."

Like Visenya. Rhaegar wants to laugh. Of course Ostara would have magic like Visenya, how else would she have been able to hatch four dragons where his grandfather- a full blooded Targareyn- had not even been able to hatch one. Rhaegar has no way of telling what the extent of her powers may be but if she can hide four dragons in plain sight then she must be capable of truly great things. This means he'll have to work all the harder to keep Ostara out of his father's grasp. It also means he'll need to speak with Ostara as soon as possible. Frowning, Rhaegar address the children.

"You cannot stay in King's Landing, to do so would only see you in dangerous situations later on."

"We can't leave!" The boy hisses, "We have nowhere else to go."

Rhaegar ignores the blatant disregard for decorum and says, "I've arranged for the two of you to be sent to Dorne. There you will be provided with new names, a home to live in, and a House to serve. All I ask in return is that you speak not of dragons and Lady Ostara to anyone that crosses your path from this moment on, am I understood?"

After both children have agreed Rhaegar sends them off with Arthur. There isn't much else he can ask them due to the fact that the memories of children are so unreliable and that the longer they remain in King's Landing the less likely they are to leave it. All he needed was affirmation that the rumors are true, or as true as they can be considering they might just be rumors, but at least he has something to go on. Confronting Ostara will be all the easier now that he has something substantial, direct questions he can ask her and even names to throw at her when she tries to deny it, because she will deny it. Only a fool would admit to keeping four living, breathing dragons a secret from the Targaryens. A sharp bark of laughter slips out of Rhaegar. Only Ostara would keep four living, breathing dragons that she hatched with her magic a secret from the Targaryens and get away with it.

The only reason Rhaegar knows is because of the Red Woman and Ostara's personal servant.

Which brings forth the question of their loyalty. It's impossible to defend their actions when Rhaegar knows that they must have suspected what would happen to Ostara should any word of those dragons reached him, his father, or any other member of his house. Disloyalty is not something Rhaegar will force Ostara to endure and the moment he sees her he will be telling her what has transpired between those closest to her and the rest of the Keep. As Prince of the Seven Kingdoms he has the authority to see them both executed but he will keep his peace until Ostara has been told of their transgressions. They're her servants, she can decide their fate. Rhaegar will not presume to take such a decision from her but he will not tolerate traitors.

Should Ostara wish them to be shown mercy then Rhaegar will show them mercy, but they will no longer be welcomed in King's Landing, or the Seven for that matter. Not unless he can be sure of their continued and absolute loyalty to Ostara. If he cannot ensure their loyalty then what good are they to him and his House? Bitterly he thinks of the Lords and Ladies milling about in his father's court. They're about as loyal as a starving dog and yet he can do nothing more than endure their presence. Rhaegar tugs absently at his sleeve as he makes for the door.

With time to spare and matters to ponder Rhaegar thinks it best to visit the training yard before seeking out Ostara. Hopefully having a sword in his hand and something to channel his worries into will help him handle the situation he's found himself in a little bit better, for surely it won't be a peaceful discussion had between them when Rhaegar manages to finally confront Ostara. Keeping dragon secret has likely been no easy task for her as keeping her magic secret has surely been a strain to her nerves. Rhaegar is expecting defensiveness, fury, gnashing teeth and sharpened claws because Ostara is nothing less than a force to be reckoned with. She's a far cry from the Ladies he's used to seeing, the ones who simper and bemoan their luck and fret needlessly. Still, there are times Rhaegar would gladly take the familiarity of those woman over the unpredictable behaviors of Ostara. At least Rhaegar knows what the woman of court want from him.

Shaking his head as he makes his way down the long corridor Rhaegar wonders if he should be more worried about Ostara or himself. It seems a bit irrational to fear for a woman with four dragons and magic at her fingertips, but the fear is there none-the-less. Ostara might not even know about the rumors. She doesn't seem the type to listen to such things and if she were when would there be time for such? The rumors have only just begun to reach the higher levels of court but haven't quite reached the circles Ostara is known to run in. His mother's Ladies-in-Waiting have shown no signs of having heard the rumors, his father has not ordered her before the court, and Varys has yet to go to anyone with the knowledge, so it's possible Ostara isn't aware that she's the focus of so many whispers. That's why Rhaegar worries. How can someone defend themselves when they aren't aware of the threat? He needs to speak with her, soon, as soon as possible.

It takes him seconds to make his way in the opposite direction of the training yard and toward the grouping of rooms in the Red Keep set up for Ostara, her guards, and her inner circle. No one tries to stop him as he makes his way through the Keep and for that Rhaegar is thankful. Though, he's even more thankful to not have run into any of Ostara's inner circle- namely the Red Woman- on his journey. When he reaches the door to her chambers Rhaegar frowns at how inappropriate this is but reminds himself that it's still early and the only people likely to see him are the guards and the servants. Rumors would surely spread but at least Rhaegar would have the ability to curtail those.

Briskly, he knocks on the door leading to her personal set of chambers and frowns when he's met with nothing but silence. Again he knocks and again there's no reply. It's too early for her to have been summoned to his mother's side but Ostara could have gone off with that shadow cat of hers to the gardens or to the library. He doubts she went to Flea Bottom as no guards have been sent off with her and his father hasn't begun fretting. Rhaegar leaves the wing in the Keep reserved for Ostara and her underlings as quickly as his legs can carry him without being too suspicious.

A quick search of the library and the gardens turn up no sign of Ostara, however, and Rhaegar is soon forced to seek out Lewyn Martell in the hopes that he has seen her as he is the one who is supposed to keep his eye on her today. Aerys would never allow Ostara to roam about without proper guards, Kingsguards, her own are in his opinion unfit to keep a Targaryen as important as Ostara safe. If his father knew just what types of secrets Ostara kept Rhaegar doubts the King would let her leave her chambers without at least four members of the Kingsguard at her back and half-a-dozen Unsullied warriors. While Ostara has been important to Aerys based on her breeding and her status as a viable bride for Rhaegar she would become even more revered should his father learn of her dragons.

He meets Ser Lewyn halfway down the stairs that would take him to Ostara's wing in the Keep.

"Ser Lewyn, might I have a private word?" Rhaegar asks, it's clear he hasn't seen Ostara today but he would like to make the man aware of the situation so as to keep him from being blamed should news of her being missing reach the King.

"Of course, your highness."

The two of them make their way to a quiet alcove off the landing where it will be less likely for them to be overheard. Lewyn appears unconcerned and Rhaegar wishes he were able to be as carefree as the Dornish prince, but alas he has not the luxury of such.

"Have you spoken to Lady Ostara this morning?" He asks to be sure the once prince hasn't passed Ostara along the way somewhere in the Keep.

Lewyn shakes his head, hard eyes narrowed in question as he says, "I've not, your highness."

"I have a private matter to discuss with her, one of great importance, and when I called upon her I found she was not in the library nor the gardens." Rhaegar says.

"Could she be in her chambers?"

"No. I called upon there as well." Rhaegar glances off to the side to make sure no one has spotted them and is attempting to listen to their conversation. "The matter we need to discuss is one of great important but cannot be discussed publicly, nor can anyone know of it. Should you see Lady Ostara please take her aside and quietly inform her that I need to speak with her as she's capable of seeing me."

The severity of the situation is not lost on Lewyn for he nods and says, "Aye. I'll tell her as soon as I am capable."

"Thank you."

Hooded eyes spark knowingly as the Dornishman bows his head to Rhaegar before turning and striding off, white cloak fluttering softly behind him. Rhaegar wonders if he's aware of the rumors as well. It wouldn't surprise him any if the Dornishman was aware. Nothing stays secret in this thrice damned place and with so many rumors flying about it would be foolish to think that none of the higher ranking guards or Lords are unaware. Rhaegar wets his lips before he too steps out of the alcove and begins making his way in the opposite direction of Lewyn. All the while he wonders just how much time he has to warn Ostara and demand the truth before word reaches his father.

* * *

 _A/N:_

 _Hello everyone, I would like to inform you that while this chapter is kind of pushing the story along it's also just a filler. I needed to put something out because the longer I leave it in my drafts and the more I edit/delete/repeat the less likely it is I'll actually get this story going again. So here it is; a bit mess, a bit purposeful, a bit of the author has no idea what she's doing but she needed to do something. Now that it's out, however, I've sparked a new idea that ties in to this chapter while getting me going again so hopefully I won't lose anymore motivation than I have over the past few months and I can start turning out chapters again. Fingers crossed._

 _We will be introducing new characters (I think you guys are gonna love the upcoming chapters btw) and we're getting more intense interactions out of Rhaegar and Ostara so that's gonna be awesome. Updates might be a little more sporadic as I'm going to try and get other works going and updated but I'm going to try and make them as regular as possible. If you have questions, suggestions, ideas, or you just want to chat my reviews and PMs are open so you can message away as you please. I just might not answer right away. So be aware of that. I do love reviews though so, uh, hint-hint-nudge-nudge I guess._

 _That being said I do have something else to say; be safe._

 _I normally don't put anything in regards to social happenings in my notes because I figure that people don't come here to hear about them (you come here to read a story, enjoy it, and escape into fantasy or whatever else it is your reading this story for) but right now with everything going on I want to make sure everyone is being as safe as their current situations are allowing._


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